


Track of the Apocalypse

by Vathara



Series: The Light at the End of the Tunnel (is an oncoming train) [2]
Category: Stargate SG-1, 甲鉄城のカバネリ | Koutetsujou no Kabaneri | Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress (Anime)
Genre: Annoyed steamsmiths, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Don't copy to another site, Friendship, Mad Science, Post-Canon, Steampunk, Survival, Unfortunately Kabaneri canon, Zombie Apocalypse, determinators
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2020-03-07 02:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 91,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18863938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vathara/pseuds/Vathara
Summary: Survivors, explorers - when it comes to the fallen temple city of Keishi, everyone's looking for answers....With the Kabane, you never like what you find.





	1. Sneaking

**Author's Note:**

> This fic starts 22 days after the fall of Aragane Station in canon, two days after Sweeten the Bitter Dregs. Note that while this fic series holds to the canon of the first season of Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress, it is AU from the game and movie, because I got the original plotbunnies before those ever came out.

“We need to prepare for winter.”

 _“Got you!”_ Hitting the locomotive’s prow deck in a mad roll of blue and pink, Ikoma finally pinned Hozumi long enough to snatch back tattered red linen. Hugged the cloak to him as the younger Kabaneri pouted, and finally blinked. “Winter?”

Hanging onto the railing with one hand, Ayame held up the other to mask most of her giggle. She was among friends, Kurusu would pretend he’d seen nothing, the abandoned fields and grasslands this far out from Keishi had no sign of Kabane, and watching Hozumi lead Ikoma on a mad chase all over the outside of the locomotive for that cloak to _prove_ he was healed enough to be on active duty again was the funniest thing she’d seen in days.

Even funnier because Hozumi’s determined pout was clear evidence she hadn’t wanted to let Ikoma grab it. It might have had something to do with Sukari calling Ikoma’s cloak her security blanket. Maybe.

Beside her, Ayame felt Kurusu finally relax. Officially because the tag was now over, and he could stop watching to make sure no Kongokaku souls made it up here to see two people they already _knew_ were odd do anything... physically improbable. For humans.

Unofficially, if she glanced that way, Ayame knew she’d find a quickly-hidden look of relief on her bodyguard’s face. The past three weeks had taken Ikoma from a supposed insane coward of a steamsmith to the battle-partner Kurusu would take on an entire horde with. He’d missed having someone who could keep up with him in a fight. For her safety, of course, he’d be quick to say; hers, and the Koutetsujou’s.

And it wouldn’t be a lie. But Kurusu felt better with someone he could trust not to die at his back.

“Winter?” Sitting up, Hozumi waved toward the pale skies before dawn around them; air warm, but not near the summer-heat it’d gain once the sun was well up. “That’s half a _year_.”

“Yes, it is,” Ayame agreed, breathing in muggy air. Green grass, some hints of unmown wheat gone wild; if they weren’t so close to Keishi she would have asked the Elders if it was worth it to send out a gleaning party. But this close... no. “That’s why we need to think about it now.” Not even dawn, and it was already humid. But no trace of storms yet, thank the kami-

Kurusu straightened. “Lady Ayame?”

Oh. She probably had gone a little pale. “We had Tanabata... it’s _typhoon season_. I forgot.” And how could she forget, it’d only been _three weeks_ since Aragane fell and they’d already been laying in stores for the season then-!

“We’ve been busy,” Ikoma said dryly. Stood, wrapping red around himself; settled his glasses back on his face as the light grew stronger. “So we get a typhoon. Even if it’s a bad one, a hayajiro’s too heavy to worry about the wind....” His words died as he looked down at the tracks, and their gravel ballast.

“If the rains are too heavy, they could wash out some of the tracks,” Ayame nodded. “Even if the rails are unharmed, and the floodwaters don’t wash silt and debris into the right of way - a flood slows passage. I know Suzuki and all of you checked the wheels when we reached Shitori, but... we came so _close_ to derailing at Yashiro. Water would make that worse.”

Ikoma inclined his head, Aragane’s best steamsmith taking her at her word. Ayame wished she felt half as confident. She’d been raised as the heir to Aragane Station, she’d heard so many of these details in her studies. But not nearly enough.

_Oh, if only we had the Yomogawa library!_

Or an experienced conductor; Yukina herself admitted she was too young to know everything of running a hayajiro. Preferably, both.

 _As well wish for the moon_. Ayame swallowed any urge to cry. _First my people need to survive. Food, shelter, more gunpowder, more daita iron - we need all of that before we could even_ think _of staging a raid on what’s left of Aragane_.

“If there’s any flood... we could be slowed down for miles, in the wrong place.” Hozumi stood, riding the motion of the hayajiro as easily as they all did, these days.

“Kabane can’t swim,” Kurusu said flatly.

And thank the kami for that, Ayame thought. If moats didn’t work against Kabane, the stations really would be finished.

“They can’t,” Hozumi nodded. “But some of them will try to wade.”

Ikoma looked down the length of the Koutetsujou, and traded a glance with Kurusu. “If it comes to that....”

“We should focus on normal ammunition and knockback while the horde is at a distance,” Kurusu stated. “If there is a flood, let the water do some of our work for us.”

Ikoma nodded, and glanced at Hozumi. “Do the Hunters have plans for floods?”

She scowled, looking down the train toward the car Uryuu and the others had a corner of. “Stay out of them?”

Ikoma and Kurusu traded another glance. Ayame tried not to narrow her eyes too obviously, but she wished she knew what they were _thinking_. Ikoma she knew hadn’t forgiven the Hunters for unleashing the Kabane on innocent people, but... it’d been Sahari who’d murdered Takumi, and Sahari was very thoroughly dead. At Ikoma’s own hands, from Kurusu’s report. Uryuu, the other surviving Hunters - with Biba gone they had nowhere to go. And they’d kept their word to help protect the Koutetsujou. Ikoma seemed to have decided they _could_ be trusted. A steamsmith didn’t have to like someone to work with them.

Kurusu seemed more inclined to reserve judgment. Lady Ayame Yomogawa had given her word that the Hunters would be protected as any other traveling on the Koutetsujou, and Kurusu would see to it her bushi kept that word. But he watched them. Always.

Ayame eyed the subtle tilt of Kurusu’s eyebrows, the glint behind Ikoma’s glasses, and hid a wry smile at her own knotted worries. Knowing those two, that glance could just as easily have been, _we asked_ Hozumi _to explain something? What were we thinking?_

“We will ask them if they have specific tactics,” Kurusu stated. “A group of Hunters would likely have different strategies from one Kabaneri sent into the fight.”

Hozumi tilted her head, then shrugged; as good as an admission that he could be right. “We should still stay out of them.”

“We will if we can, but without knowing which stations are still alive we don’t know what routes we’ll take,” Ayame said plainly. “We have to work out some kind of refuge for our people. Or at least safer routes.” She took a breath, bracing herself. “Which means salvage to buy our way into a station lord’s graces is even more important.”

Ikoma frowned, obviously thinking through a dozen calculations of metal, parts, and resources she might never have imagined. “And our priorities aren’t just things we can grab to repair the Koutetsujou, but anything we can get for track repair.” He looked up. “You didn’t want to stop in Keishi.”

“No, I did not,” Ayame allowed. “It’s dangerous. One of the first stations hit by the Kabane? The rumors of curses alone might be enough to stir unrest among the passen- the Kongokaku refugees.”

Drat. Kurusu’s deliberately blank look, Ikoma’s carefully straight face - they _knew_ she’d almost said passengers.

 _Too much time living with a hayajiro crew_. Ayame tried not to sigh. _I am the Lady of Aragane. I can’t forget that. Not if we want to deal with station lords one on one_.

“They ought to be grateful they _are_ passengers,” Hozumi _hmph_ ed, taking out her cup-and-ball toy to enjoy the effects of the headwind on her play. “After what they tried?”

Ayame had to close her eyes a moment, shoving back the memory of her people in cages, and frightened people with _torches_. “The minister of Shitori should be glad to have Elder Dogen Makino’s council, and take in his people. Without his own lord, and with the responsibility of a young heir... Minister Yamazaki needs the help.” That had been one of the unpleasant but not unexpected facts they’d learned from Uryuu; Lord Hirozuka of Shitori had been one of those who betrayed Biba and his men to the Kabane to die, a decade ago. He’d been alive after the Hunters’ train had left the station. But not for long.

“Mercy to the defeated is generous.” Kurusu’s fingers touched the hilt of his sword. “But we cannot forget what they did, my lady. If we mean to travel between stations on the Koutetsujou, we cannot simply leave them behind and believe them in our past. To travel between the stations is to deal with _every_ station. We will meet them again.”

“I know.” Ayame sighed, gripping the rail so she could slump, just a little. They wouldn’t mind. “I _don’t_ want to go through Keishi. I don’t even want to go near it! But none of the tracks will let us bypass it without taking to the mountains again.”

Even Hozumi looked unsettled by that thought.

“And if we have to pass through Keishi.... Our rail maps of this area are old. People fled, they haven’t come back to survey. And everyone ran. They would have used the track _around_ Keishi to flee, not the ones through it! If every hayajiro crowded onto that track, if they weren’t careful - what if the outer track is blocked?” She waved at the wind. “And which track is it? Which turn-off should we take? Which switch? Yukina, Suzuki, even Uryuu - I’ve had them all read the maps we have, and no one’s sure.”

Ikoma frowned, looking away down the tracks. “But if we aim toward the city wall, we’ll see the through-track in time to hit the right switches.”

Ayame swallowed, and inclined her head. It helped, that those she trusted agreed with her reasoning. But it didn’t melt the ice of fear down her spine. “We might take losses from the Kabane. But if the Koutetsujou hits a blocked track, and we can’t backtrack in time - we could lose everyone.”

“We might not take losses at all.” Ikoma’s voice was quiet. Almost gentle. “Keishi was one of the first cities hit. Any Kabane spawned there haven’t had prey for over a decade. They might have moved on. And if they have-”

“Resources,” Kurusu agreed. “Parts. Iron that can be melted and remade.”

“Blueprints,” Ikoma nodded. “Lore on the Kabane, if we get really lucky... there were reports, from some of the first survivors, that someone dealing with the Keishi nobles was investigating the Kabane. An outlander. If we knew anything about him, where he came from, what he found out-” He cut himself off. “But that would be luck. We need salvage. The way crops in the stations are thin, even fertilizer would help.” He touched his glasses, as if checking that clear and green glass was truly there. “The Koutetsujou has to come first. If we stop anywhere - we want to hit the Keishi railyard.” A grim smile. “Everyone who ran had to go through there. Who knows what we’ll find?”

* * *

 

The wall around Keishi was frighteningly low. It gave Ayame chills just to see it, even through the Koutetsujou’s periscope, wondering how many people had trusted mere three-story walls and no moat to guard them from anything as lethal as other humans, much less the Kabane.

 _Father said Keishi was Hi-no-Moto’s heart of spirit, the way Kongokaku was the heart of power_.

At least, that was what he’d said when he was being poetic, or diplomatic to some of the priests petitioning his rule. During the hours of her more pragmatic instruction as Aragane’s heir, he’d referred to Keishi as what happened when those who’d fallen out of power went grasping after it, against the will of their shogun-

Ayame winced, and relinquished the periscope to Sukari again, pacing back up to the planning table. Vibration shivered through the stairs to her feet as the Koutetsujou eased down to near-idling speed, creeping through the tunnel leading to Keishi’s railyard. So long as Ikoma and Mumei didn’t sense Kabane, it was Yukina’s judgment that it was safer to slow the Koutetsujou down so the brakes wouldn’t screech - and then accelerate if it turned out their early-warning system had been direly wrong. Because Kabaneri senses _could_ be fooled, if the Kabane were in a hibernating torpor.

And it was so much less painful to think of sleeping hordes than the last time she’d seen her father’s face. Because... it hadn’t been her father, anymore....

“Lady Ayame.”

Kurusu, steel-straight as the sword at his side. Guarding her, as he would every moment the Koutetsujou passed through this enemy territory. Because, as her bushi had quite bluntly sat her down and told her after the fall of Kongokaku, her life was the one they _could not_ lose.

 _My people depend on my voice to plead for them with station lords. Aragane, Yashiro, Koutetsujou - even the Hunters. All of them have placed their lives in my hands_.

Sometimes the weight was so heavy. But Ayame made herself smile, because her people were worried enough. “I know, I know. You’re worried that if you’re not out there with Ikoma while our people look for salvage, he’ll get lost in blueprints and forget the time.”

From the twitch of blue-black brows, that had occurred to him, yes.

“Tell him we can always take the blueprints with us,” Ayame suggested. “We probably should. Any we can find. Paper is light, compared to hayajiro armor.” She folded her hands with a sigh, noting the shift in light and echoes that meant their locomotive had finally cleared the tunnel and was now inching under the railyard skylight. “I only worry where we’ll _keep_ everything. Even after we get the Kongokaku refugees offloaded, we have to plan for winter supplies-”

“Lady Ayame!”

Her heart jumped, as Kurusu’s hand found the hilt of his sword. But... Sukari didn’t sound afraid. More-

“My lady!” Yukina’s voice joined Sukari’s, the normally even-tempered conductor as excited as Ayame had ever heard her. “You have to come see this!”

* * *

 

“A freight car,” Ayame breathed, up on the Koutetsujou’s prow again. To her sides, Hozumi and Hunter Masahide stood armed watch, while Kurusu twitched behind her. Because she _had_ to see this with her own eyes.

But there it was, standing quiet in the sun on a little loading spur track just outside the railyard. Paint peeled, steel possibly tinged with rust, but blessedly _intact_.

As opposed to some of the other steel-and-iron wrecks cluttering half the tracks in the railyard. Two were tipped on their sides, holes gaping in any upper surface. Another had been torn half to pieces and scattered across one of the tracks that should have led around the outer edge of Keishi.

 _Thank the kami we picked the through-track_.

Though the shattered car put a chill down her spine. It’d happened decades ago, the vines choking the railyard turntable were proof of that, but still. “Masahide. Is that... could it mean...?”

“Hard to say.” The Hunter bushi flexed his fingers against his steam rifle, arm probably still bothering him despite days of rest since Kongokaku. “Could have been just Kabane, if there were enough of them.” He frowned, watching carefully as Ikoma, Sukari, and Eishun poked around and under the freight car. Kibito, Uryuu, and a third of their bushi stood watch over them, ready for any outside threats, while other fighters stood guard inside, as the Koutetsujou’s volunteer salvage teams hit the railyard for anything they could carry off. Tools, armor plate, parts, oil - everything down to books and old newsprints, if they could find them. Keishi had been one of the first outbreaks, if they could find _any_ clues about the Kabane that had been lost in the scramble to survive....

Ayame breathed out, recalling her orders to her people. _If it’s small and valuable, or small and useful_ , take it _. If we need the crane to move it... maybe we take it anyway_.

A freight car might need more than a crane. But oh, if they could even get some of the parts-!

 _If_. “It’s closed. Could there be-?”

“Inside?” Masahide frowned, eyeing Hozumi’s steady gaze; Ikoma scrambling around the car, even under it, stopping every now and again to _listen_. “Maybe. But it’s small. Like the boss told you back at that old village; Kabane like to sleep in masses.”

Hozumi nodded. “If they’re here, they should be in _here_. Under the railyard. With us.”

Not the most comforting thought. But at least Hozumi was honest about the danger-

Ayame frowned, as Eishun, Ikoma, and Sukari all seemed to come to some sort of agreement. The blond steamsmith jogged back toward the rest of the salvage parties, obviously relieved to be _leaving_ , while Eishun picked his steam rifle back up and joined Uryuu. Then Kibito and Uryuu arranged their firepower for a clear shot at one of the car’s end doors, while Ikoma... circled to the other side? “What are they doing?”

Hozumi gave her an all too familiar _this should be obvious_ glance. Masahide caught it, and probably heard Kurusu’s faint growl. Shrugged, a hint of a grin lightening his face. “It’s hard to pick it out in a mob fight, but... Lady Ayame. Kabane _hate_ Kabaneri.”

* * *

 

Halting on the side of the car opposite the door Kibito had picked, Ikoma let out a deliberate breath. _We checked the undercarriage. We checked the wheels. And we checked the couplings_.

Those last they’d all paid particular attention to; Ikoma had even rapped them quietly with the hilt of his piercing gun, listening for any off pitch that might hint of metal fatigue. Because all three of them hoped, hoped hard, but hope wasn’t worth salt in the rain if the couplings were shot.

But the last person to maintain this car had left it well-oiled and prepared to wait in open air. They probably hadn’t meant it to wait twenty years... but it would do.

Ikoma tensed, but made himself move toward the hull, flexing gloved fingers as he walked. They’d grown back enough now to handle the piercing gun, but they ached, and Kurusu wanted him to keep the glove on at least another day longer. So those from Kongokaku didn’t notice.

Not that he cared about those idiots right now. If this didn’t work, if they were all wrong, it’d take him critical seconds to get around or over the car, and those were bushi he knew risking their lives-

 _Breathe_.

Grimly, he pounded on the steel wall, making enough noise to cover Kibito’s bushi opening the far hatch. And jerked his fist up, _listening_.

Ringing echoes. Harsh breathing. Otherwise, silence.

“Looks clear,” Uryuu said at last. “Lot of crates inside, though. You want to take a look?”

 _No, not really_. He wanted to kill the Kabane, he wanted _answers_ \- but he never wanted to risk the lives of those he knew again.

Didn’t matter what he wanted. So long as the Kabane were out there, every life was at risk. If they could just get the Koutetsujou out of here in one piece.... “I’m coming.”

Ikoma climbed the stairs up to the open hatch, crouching below eye level to peer around into the shadows. Just in case.

Dust. A scent of old wood and dried oil, from piles and piles of crates. A few cobwebs in the corners, glittering a little in the sunlight; Kibito had picked the door where the sun would be mostly in Kabane eyes, whether that mattered or not. It kept the glare out of Koutetsujou vision, and that might be the difference between life and death.

Piercing gun in hand, he stepped into the dusty silence.

 _I don’t see Kabane. I don’t feel Kabane_. Glancing over the top layer of crates, Ikoma drew in a deep breath. _I don’t smell Kabane_.

“Ikoma?” Kibito; not worried, not yet. Just a little... tense.

Piercing gun cradled in his arm, Ikoma eyed the stacks. “I want to shift some of these crates to be sure.” Anyone who’d stored freight knew how to stack it to make little cubby-holes, and he was _not_ letting a monster slip in through a nest no one had suspected was there. “But it looks clear.”

“Thank the kami,” Kibito breathed. “Okay. Who wants to get dusty?”

Which led to an amusing too-close-quarters dance with a few bushi and one bemused Hunter steamsmith, as they all poked and prodded and shifted splintery old wood to make sure there wasn’t anything hiding in amongst the crates.

 _In_ the crates, though... Ikoma frowned.

About an inch from jamming his elbow into Ikoma’s ribs, one of the long-haired bushi dusted off half-gloved hands. “Shouldn’t we open a few of these?”

Ikoma shook his head. “Most of them aren’t big enough to hide a Kabane, Tozuka.”

That got him a rueful laugh. “You don’t need to sound disappointed.”

Ikoma’s face felt hot; he wondered if he’d managed to blush. “No, it’s not- If they were bigger, they might have more complicated equipment.”

Eishun snorted, the Hunter steamsmith trying to brush some dust off his scarf before giving up and shoving aside another crate. “With our luck, they’re all twenty-year-old rice dust.”

Tozuka cast him a wry look, then shrugged. “Shouldn’t we find out?”

“No.” Ikoma took another tickling-dust breath, trying to quiet his nerves. “Not here.”

That doused the quiet grousing like water on embers. Everyone in hearing range gave him a wary look.

 _Oops_. “I don’t feel anything,” Ikoma said hastily. “I just don’t like this place. Even if there aren’t Kabane lairing here... we’ve been stopped more than an hour checking everything. Connect the car, load it with more salvage; we can go through it on the way. Why risk staying longer?”

“Makes sense,” Kibito agreed from the doorway. “All right, everyone out. Let’s see if Sukari talked Yukina into moving our hayajiro for a little link-up.”

* * *

 

Lady Ayame was _not_ dancing on top of the Koutetsujou, Kurusu noted, standing at the ready beside her. She was quiet and demure and always careful of her lordly dignity. She was not shrieking with glee as Yukina carefully pulled the hayajiro into position so willing shoulders - Ikoma’s among them - could push the old freight car those last few inches to make the connection. She was definitely not waving her fists and cheering as Sukari used the master key to lock the car on, and headed back to them at a cautious run.

But from the gleam of violet eyes, she wanted to. “We have another car!”

Which was ample reason to celebrate. Hayajiro cars were _expensive_. And the Koutetsujou was running on scanty resources as it was. “It is an older model. We’ll have to add extra armor.”

“Armor is cheaper.” Ayame let a fraction of her dignity slip, and twirled in place, smiling at Hozumi and a bemused Masahide. “We have a car! Someplace to put things! _Space!_ ”

The Kabaneri girl perked up at that. “Does this mean I get more time in the sortie car to train Ikoma? He _needs_ it.”

“As do you,” Kurusu said dryly.

“Hey!” Hozumi planted a fist above one holster. “I’m much better than he is. _And_ better than your bushi.”

“Better at fighting and better at _training_ are two different things.” Kurusu gave her an exasperated glare. Yes, she’d taught Ikoma enough to stay alive, but it was better to build a solid foundation first than to have Kibito and the other bushi tearing their hair out trying to explain to Ikoma why a move he’d learned from a light teenage girl did not work with his frame. “Imitation allows you both to mimic a trained fighter. But Ikoma is a steamsmith. He needs not only to see, but to understand.”

That earned him a pouting _hmph_. But she didn’t argue. This time.

Maybe the surroundings had sobered her. Kami knew they sobered him. The damage in Aragane had been hard enough to witness, seeing Kabane crack through the railyard skylights even as they pulled out; and every building in Aragane Station had been built and rebuilt knowing the Kabane might one day break through. This place... Keishi reminded him of an ancient sparkling glass globe. Brilliant, the peak of a glassblower’s art, and oh so fragile.

 _No hardpoints. No armored walls. Straight-line stairs in the railyard; no spirals with corner platforms for defensive shots_.

It made his shoulders tense despite his training, and Kurusu was sure the rest of the Koutetsujou’s fighters felt the same. If nothing else happened everyone was going to be sore tomorrow from sheer nerves.

Bits of white and tan were lighter spots in some of the railyard shadows. Kurusu watched yet another steamsmith walk carefully around them without seeming to look at them at all, and wondered how vicious the attack here had been. Kabane victims didn’t usually leave bones behind.

 _In the past. Twenty years past, if tales are right_. Kurusu forced his attention up and outward again, looking over toward what was left of the great city-

Ah. Moving the Koutetsujou out to pick up the car had given them a slightly better angle to see the hills above, where remnants of steel and concrete arched into the sky.

Vibration; Sukari, climbing the locomotive stairs to bow, and hand Ayame back her key. Then he followed Kurusu’s gaze, jaw set.

_I wonder how much of Kongokaku’s tracks have fallen to ruin already?_

Keishi’s had had twenty years to crumble. The closest arch seemed to be about a third of an elevated spur, steel and concrete ending before it would have passed over the main track below.

 _Not good. It’s no mountain tunnel... but if there are Kabane, they might try to use it. We should avoid it_.

If they could. This was an old station, with limited flat land for rails, and staying on the main track out of Keishi would be hard enough without trying to dodge every elevated position. And the spur might not be the worst obstacle. Farther off Kurusu could spy the remnants of true loop tracks, that would have allowed freight and nobles to pass between various parts of the city without the indignity of walking. Those might well pass completely over the main track, and they’d need snipers to watch every one.

 _A spur_. Kurusu frowned, eyes drawn back to that half-arch. _What was so important they built a dedicated rail from high ground down to the main line?_

Lady Ayame would have to decide if it was worth investigating. Frankly, Kurusu thought not. They’d found an intact car, and no one was dead. He didn’t feel like tempting the kami further.

From the look of unease on Sukari’s face, the steamsmith agreed. “I’ll tell Yukina. If we get on a track that starts climbing, we’ll have to back up.”

“We should have expected as much,” Kurusu mused. “Keishi was old before the engines ever came from Albion. Of course it would have skybound loops. More than even Kongokaku claimed.”

“And now it’s got skybound deathtraps,” Sukari said dryly. “Yukina will love that.”

He vanished down the locomotive hatch, as Ayame sighed happily. “I asked them to get parts, they bring me back a car....”

Masahide shook his head. Kurusu kept any smile off his face. Ayame’s people loved their lady. More, they trusted her. If she asked, they would do their best to accomplish the impossible.

“...I wonder what they’d bring if I asked for sugar?”

Kurusu choked.

Hozumi’s eyes went round as soup bowls. “Candy?”

Kurusu felt a distinct sinking sense of doom, that for once had nothing to do with the ever-present threat of the Kabane.

Masahide glanced between them, before determinedly turning his attention back to his watch. “Young lady. You can’t eat....”

“No, I think she _could_.” Ayame studied the Koutetsujou’s self-proclaimed bodyguard. “At least rock sugar? If she let it dissolve. Honey works; why not sugar?”

Hozumi’s smile was tentative, but bright as the first edge of dawn.

A bushi’s mind was calm. Disciplined. Pure of focus, even in the face of impossible odds.

Kurusu pictured Hozumi’s usual casually homicidal bounce through the battlefield - or the Koutetsujou, she saw little difference - with the manic edge of a sugar high. And quailed.

Which was possibly why he heard Sukari heading back up the hatch first, a frustrated look on the steamsmith’s face that made Kurusu subtly motion Masahide back, farther from Lady Ayame and closer to the rail overlooking Uryuu and the other salvagers.

The Hunter obeyed. Thankfully. Because Elder Dogen Makino was hard on Sukari’s heels, Naokata of the Kongokaku bushi behind him.

Kurusu’s eyes narrowed against a sudden headache. _This. Is the last. Thing we need_.

“Niece.” Dogen deliberately glanced down to the end of the Koutetsujou, where Ikoma and some of the other steamsmiths were finishing the last steam and other hookups on their new car. “This is... less than wise.”

“Five hundred survivors packed into a hayajiro with only six cars is less than wise.” Ayame did not move; face open, but not nearly as cheerful and smiling as her uncle usually saw. “Elder. You knew we would stop for valuable salvage, not least to give your people the best chance of gaining refuge within a station. Times are hard, harvests have not been good... and now, the shogun’s name carries no more weight than a gust of stray wind.”

Naokata bristled on his master’s behalf. “Do you dare to say we will have to _buy_ our way into a station?” 

Hozumi rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Kurusu caught the bushi’s gaze before Naokata could move. And _looked_ at him.

 _Do not threaten my lady, or her chosen rifles. There is_ one _lord on this hayajiro. Your Elder is not that soul_.

“Small valuables, even parts and armor, might be explained and forgotten,” Dogen stated. “An entire car? Niece, you know what the people will say.”

“Perhaps I do not.” Ayame folded her hands, guileless. “I know my people are relieved, and looking forward to using this car for more storage. And perhaps a place to test and refine jet bullets; we have not had a good space on the Koutetsujou for that since the Fused Colony tore the last car from us in Yashiro Station.”

 _We faced that monster and survived_ , Kurusu thought, as the Elder evidently thought better of whatever he’d been about to say. _We have faced all the Kabane - and traitors - could throw at us, and we are still here_. 

Granted, he would be among the first to admit their existence on the Koutetsujou was precarious. Sooner or later they would need help from other stations; with food, with parts, with places to rest for the sick and injured. But they’d survived over three weeks since Aragane’s fall. He’d never heard of _any_ refugees making it that far.

Perhaps Dogen knew that, for his tone lost some of its edge. “You know there are those who will claim anything taken from Keishi will take the curse with it-”

“It’s not a curse, it’s a virus,” Hozumi said impatiently. “And you can’t get it if the Kabane aren’t here. You’re all _idiots_.”

Dogen stiffened, and Naokata almost moved. Kurusu glared - but at Hozumi, this time. “Do _not_ interrupt the Elder while he speaks to Lady Ayame.” _We need to know what his people are thinking._ Especially _if they’re about to be idiots_.

“Huh!” But the girl looked away, jaw clenched on whatever horribly blunt words she’d had in mind.

“I well know it is a virus,” Dogen stated, deliberately civil. “But many believe it is a curse, and reason will not sway them otherwise. Taking anything from Keishi will be viewed as unwise. To take a car - Ayame. Every attack from the Kabane, from this moment on, will be blamed on that car.”

 _Of course it will_ , Kurusu thought, trying not to roll his eyes as Hozumi was rolling hers. The girl was a bad influence. _And if it wasn’t the car, it’d be something else. The Kabane are out there. They don’t need a curse to come find us_.

And if Kibito heard those thoughts, he’d probably say someone sounded like Ikoma. Again. Argh.

Dogen glanced at Masahide, before deliberately turning his attention back to Ayame. “And having a Hunter as one of your guards will not help-”

“Why Uncle, wherever did you get that idea?” Ayame said brightly. “Kurusu and Mumei are my guards. Hunter Masahide is still on the injured list, and even if I did wish to have such a skilled rifle protecting me, Kurusu would never be so careless with the safety of Yomogawa.” She shook her head, still smiling. “No. Masahide merely asked for a position that would allow him to assist his comrades in an emergency. How could I deny a warrior that request?”

Kurusu slanted a quick look at the Hunter, who was wise enough not to smile. Masahide only inclined his head, a rusty but reasonably proper courtesy. “Lady Ayame is very gracious, Elder.”

“The young can be very generous,” Dogen stated, very still. “But even the youngest lord, or lady, must grip the steel of the future needs of her people. No matter how deeply it may cut.”

“And that is why I have opened negotiations with Hunter Uryuu to formally join the Koutetsujou’s rifles,” Ayame stated. “Or Aragane’s.” She paused, so very deliberately. “Did you know he’s only fifteen, Uncle? So young, to lead men against the horror of the Kabane. But driven. As every survivor of a swallowed station is driven, facing those horrors so the stations still living will survive.” Face still open, she turned to Masahide. “That’s how Biba found all of you, isn’t it? All of those few he sent away, to have no part in his final revenge.”

This time, Masahide bowed; even more rusty than his courtesy, but still bushi-formal. “Most of us, yes, Lady Ayame. One or two he simply found near the railyards, and saw we had the will to fight, rather than hide.”

That drew a silence from Dogen. A very considering silence.

Naokata’s breath hissed between his teeth. “You mean to present those _monsters_ as mere refugees? You were with Elder Dogen, you were there when the shogun-!”

Dogen lifted one hand. Naokata subsided, still fighting mad.

Nodding, the Elder took a long look at Masahide. The Hunter was pale, fingers clenched on his steam rifle. But he did not look away.

“Uryuu is far too young to have been a survivor of the shogun’s doomed expedition,” Dogen said at last. “From those of the living Hunters I have seen, it is not likely - not impossible, but not _likely_ \- that any of them were a part of that accursed army.” His fingers tapped lightly against the belt of his formal robe. “Sahari, the scientists who were under the Liberator’s command, the main force of Hunters... yes, I think we can all attribute them to that great betrayal.” He cast another look askance at Masahide. “Yet every Hunter was involved in the fall of Kongokaku. Hundreds of thousands of innocent lives lost. Snuffed out in a terrifying night of fire, at the hands of the Kabane... and the Nue.”

So Dogen suspected the Koutetsujou’s crew knew more of the Nue than any of them had admitted. Kurusu was not surprised. He was Ayame’s uncle, he’d be a fool not to have read the currents of secrets swirling through the hayajiro.

 _Let him suspect. So long as he does not learn the truth until after Hozumi is safely away from him_.

“I know men can be loyal to a lord who is not worthy of their honor,” Ayame said firmly. “And I know all of us _make mistakes_. The Hunters under Biba committed a horrible wrong. _They know that_.”

Masahide winced, and nodded. “It is so.”

No explanations. No justifications. Only the acceptance of awful fact. Kurusu wondered which lord had died to leave this bushi cast aside on the rails, and whether Masahide still prayed to his memory.

 _Lady Ayame is right. The Hunters are worth saving. We would be fools not to even try_.

“The Kabane are our true enemy, Uncle.” Ayame stood straight, the Koutetsujou’s steel in her spine. “Biba forgot that, in his hate, and his desire for revenge.”

 _And he was Kabaneri_ , Kurusu thought. _Able to sense the Kabane, and their hunger, sleeping or waking; just as Ikoma and Hozumi are forced to feel it. Carrying that colony heart on the Kokujou - Ikoma suspects it could have driven Biba mad. It certainly didn’t_ help.

“Uryuu’s Hunters are those who _remembered_ ,” Ayame went on. “They will fight our enemies to their dying breaths. How can I not offer them the chance?”  

Naokata’s eyes narrowed, even as he pressed his lips together to bite back whatever unwise words came to mind.

Hozumi blinked. Scanned the horizon, then glanced at Ayame and Kurusu, before fixing her gaze on the distant city.

 _Not distant enough_. Grim, Kurusu glanced aside, toward the new last car on the Koutetsujou....

Ikoma was standing very still, head turning side to side as if he searched for distant screams. Steamsmiths, Hunters, and bushi were not _running_ \- but there was no more hesitation, and not a movement wasted, as Uryuu herded steamsmiths back onboard and Kibito dispatched Hunters and bushi toward the salvage teams in and around the railyard.

Dogen caught the sudden stillness of those on the prow, and stiffened.

Ayame took a breath, not one tremor in her frame. “I believe we will be leaving Keishi in a very short time, Uncle. Perhaps you could return to your people, and reassure them we will soon be gone?”

Dogen was made of the same steel as his niece; the Elder paled, but did not falter. “Even so.” He did hesitate. “Kurusu. You should know that decades ago, there were swordsmen as skilled as you, who were rumored to sense the Kabane even as they would sense a human enemy.”

_What?_

“They did not fare well,” Dogen stated. “For there will always be those who believe the Kabane a curse. And it is a short step from being able to detect a curse to being the one believed to _cause_ it.”

Turning on his heel, he headed down the hatch.

“Humans sensing the Kabane?” Hozumi _tch_ ed, checking her guns. “Maybe he was out in the sun too long.”

At least she’d kept her voice down. Kurusu worried at Dogen’s odd words a moment more, then set them aside. The Kabane were so much easier to deal with than _politics_. “Where are they?”

“Hard to say.” Hozumi frowned, her irritation with the Elder forgotten in the excitement of getting ready to act. “It’s distant. But heavy.”

Ayame blinked, already moving toward the hatch before Kurusu could urge her to get under cover. “What does that mean?”

“Kurusu!” Ikoma was already flinging himself up one of the locomotive ladders, Uryuu not far behind.

“Boss,” Masahide called down. “What’s Eishun-?”

“Offloading two bikes,” Uryuu cut him off, hard on Ikoma’s heels. “We might need to scout the track damn quick. Or drag salvagers out the hard way.”

“I think,” Ikoma took a hasty breath as he hit the prow, “I think there’s a _lot_. But it’s - different?”

Which could have all too many meanings, none of them good. “Different like Yashiro?” Kurusu said sharply. Because the constricted ground here would favor a Fused Colony all too well. They had to get the Koutetsujou _out_ of here.

From Uryuu’s glance at their surroundings, the Hunter leader was just as aware how vulnerable a hayajiro could be at full stop. “We should take this inside-”

“Why?” Hozumi bounced in place once, still looking toward the city. “Who knows what woke them up, but they’re not paying attention to _us_.”

 _What?_ “Ikoma?” Kurusu asked. Not that he expected Ikoma to be able to sort out more from that uncanny sense than a girl who’d been a Kabaneri two years, but the steamsmith at least understood the value of an explanation.

The white streak in Ikoma’s hair was bright in the sun, as the Kabaneri half-closed his eyes, pacing slow across the prow, then back to the other side. Like a rifleman listening for distant echoes to target the enemy. “She’s right. They’re waking up, more and more of them - but not _here_.” He blinked, eyes wide and confused. “I don’t think they know we’re here.”

“But if _we_ didn’t wake them....” Ayame pressed a hand to her mouth, paling. “Look for smoke signals! We need to check-”

Steel rattled, and Suzuki’s blond curls cleared the top hatch. “Lady Ayame! Think _meibi_ someone’s out there!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Right of way’ is commonly used to describe a right belonging to a party to pass over land of another, but it can also describe the strip of land the railroad’s used to build their road bed.  
> I’m making Keishi up. Given in Kabaneri canon Kongokaku seems to be roughly equivalent to Edo/Tokyo, I figured it was fair to have an equivalent to Kyoto. And what would more thoroughly convince people the Kabane are a curse than if the infection first destroyed the city of temples?  
> When it comes to decoding excited Suzuki-speak - think phonetically. ;)


	2. Another Fine Day Off-World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another regular if slightly tense off-world mission... until it isn't. 
> 
> (Jack would like to say whatever he did to tick off Murphy, it was an accident. Really.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stargate timeline, this fic comes just before (and may end up taking the place of) the season 3 episode, “A Hundred Days”.
> 
> ...And once again I will strongly encourage people to _read the tags._ There will be violence.

Jack O’Neill walked out onto the temple’s gray-stained wooden balcony, wide enough to line up half the SGC’s offworld teams with room to spare, and looked out over summer-green trees cloaking the mountain slope down to a tile-roofed city. “This place? Is way too pretty.”

Familiar footsteps thumped out behind him. “Jack.”

“Seriously.” Jack gripped the railing, testing how well it was anchored. Wouldn’t do to have a fight break out and go plummeting down a hundred-odd feet because he thought the railing would stop him. Not that there seemed to be anything here to fight. Just chirpy local-equivalent-of-bird songs and dust sparkling in stray shafts of early morning sunlight; the first warm breaths of what promised to be a stifling summer day. “There’s nobody _here_. Dragon statue fountains, mini-waterfalls trained off the roof on the rising-sun side, not a speck of litter from a stray acolyte grabbing lunch when nobody’s looking... and no pine trees. Isn’t that one of the rules of the universe? Every planet the Goa’uld colonized has pine trees.”

“Abydos,” Daniel Jackson reminded him, making sure to get a good panorama of the city below for the videocamera.

“Okay, _almost_ every planet.”

“And just because nobody’s here right now, doesn’t mean they won’t be back later.” Daniel did a slower visual sweep, pausing on what looked like possible buildings of interest. “Even if no one’s used the Stargate since Ma’chello left, it’s probably still a center of worship. It could be they only come up and clean the place out once a year for specific ceremonies.”

Jack tried to shake the railing again, and _hmph_ ed. “Or it could be they all up and left real quick, because _Ma’chello_.”

“It probably would be a good idea,” Daniel allowed, lowering the videocam to take his own look. “I’m not going back to PY3-948 anytime soon.” He paused. “But if this place were completely abandoned... like you pointed out, there are good water sources here. We should see animal tracks. Nests.”

And they hadn’t. Okay. So... probably people, just probably not right now. Which could be subject to change with not much warning. Better to keep their eyes open. If only because it would suck to be stabbed with a pointy stick by some justifiably paranoid local mistaking them for Ma’chello’s best buddies. “Teal’c?”

A quiet tread, and a glint of sun off gold from the wide sliding doors; Teal’c carried the most muscle of all of them, but the Jaffa moved stealthy as a Special Ops veteran. “All seems quiet, O’Neill.”

“Good. Quiet is... good.” Jack headed back inside, stopping just inside the track of translucent panels. The red-painted wooden columns holding up the ornamented ceiling were thicker than he could wrap his arms around; they ought to be solid enough. But all the delicately-painted lamps hanging from above were dark - probably because it was _daylight_ , imagine that - and the shadowed interior twitched at his nerves. Seeing the MALP in front of the Stargate, and the nice, friendly, _intact_ DHD helped. A little. “Major?”

Sam Carter shook her head, little beepy thing - well, not beeping. “No trace of other naquadah-powered technology in this building, sir.” She craned her head back, studying the lamps almost as avidly as Daniel had. “If I were going to guess, I’d say the Stargate’s probably the only tech we’ll find right here. This looks like a serious temple, and Ma’chello would have wanted at least the bare minimum of a lab to try out... whatever he was working on, here on Tenka.”

Jack slid a glance between astrophysicist and archaeologist. “Any more thoughts on what that might have been? Because between crazy-making page turners and body-switching mad science, I _really_ do not want to accidentally pick up Ma’chello tech, take three.”

Daniel didn’t quite shudder. “Ah. No, not much. I’ve worked out some of the verbs, and more of the vocabulary, but decoding his language is still hit and miss. All I’ve been able to pin down from the Area 51 notes so far is that it was something Ancient, not Ma’chello’s tech originally-”

Which was the only reason they’d come through the ‘Gate at all, as far as Jack was concerned; any planet marked “Ma’chello was here” ought to be stamped _off limits, do not call, do not write, forget it ever existed_. 

“-And I still think the most likely translation is that it had something to do with a possible alternative equivalent to a naquadah power source.”

Okay, make that two reasons they were here. Because Earth just did not have that critical super-heavy element, and so far getting hands on it in a moral and ethical way had been... dicey. If there was some alternative to the Goa’uld metal, they had to check it out. Drat.

Still. Key point in there. “Alternative means not the same,” Jack observed. “So, naquadah-detecting doohickey....”

“Probably won’t pick it up. At least not in a resting state,” Sam admitted. “We still might be able to detect the energy signature in use.”

“And we might not,” Jack stated. “So. Nothing showing up, this place is more temple than mad scientist hideout... time to start looking around for anything a little more lab-shaped.” He caught the rueful curl of Daniel’s smile. “We can spend more time in here taking pictures on our way back. For now - let’s go check out the view.”

At least it was a nice breeze out on the balcony. Jack hung back a little, keeping watch with Teal’c as Sam and Daniel peered out, pointing and arguing and discussing which roof-shapes looked more industrial than residential or religious, and whether or not the fact that Izanami had taken this planet over from Tiw before both System Lords had gone belly-up a couple centuries back would have influenced the architecture more ancient European than ancient Japanese style. From where Jack was standing it looked more like reconstructions of ancient Heian-Kyo Daniel had pulled out for the pre-world briefing, down to the kind of green that might be flowering cherry trees lining some lanes, months past flowering. But hey, he was just a colonel, what did he know....

Jack stared down at those green streets, and gave Teal’c a hand-sign of _watch_ , before he pulled out his binoculars.

“Jack?”

“Think we’d better take a closer look before we head in.” Jack focused on a street at a time, catching Daniel pulling out his own binocs from the corner of his eye. “Lady and gentlemen, I’m betting more on ‘ran from Ma’chello’ all the time.”

From the way Danny’s shoulders slumped, he knew the archaeologist had picked out the same weedy overgrowth where there should be streets that he had. “Oh... darn.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jack agreed, panning to catch enough shadows to estimate tree growth from building height. “Could still be people to talk to. Just not right _here_.” He shrugged. “Off-world, can’t say for sure, but looks like no one’s cleared the weeds out for maybe a decade. Or more. Teal’c?”

The Jaffa borrowed his binocs for a minute, as Jack took over making sure nothing snuck up on them. Though that was looking less likely all the time. “The city appears abandoned.” Teal’c almost frowned. “We will need a closer examination to see if the inhabitants fled. Or were taken.”

Yeah. Just because Teal’c hadn’t heard of a Goa’uld taking over Tenka, didn’t mean someone hadn’t pulled an Apophis and tried to sneak slaves off an unclaimed planet. Though in that case Jack would have expected a System Lord to be here, or at least left something to fortify the place....

Unless Ma’chello had left some more of his page-turner surprises behind, and they’d find more mummified ex-hosts somewhere down there. Joy.

Jack glanced at the city spread out to local west, crossed his fingers, and knocked on the railing. Because what was down there looked like purely human buildings, wood and tile and stone; meaning if any hosts had ended up de-Goa’ulded behind a locked door, they should have stood half a chance of breaking out. Maybe SG-1 would have a really good day, and there weren’t any bodies at all.

“Sam.” Daniel had panned more north, head up and suddenly alert. “Do you see that? Down through the brush - it’s thinner down there, I think there’s some kind of gravel - you do see it, right? It looks like... metal.”

Sam snapped her head around so fast, Jack would have gotten whiplash. “I see it. I’m not sure I _believe_ it, but I see it.”

“Believe what?” Jack asked. Not at all jumping with impatience, because he was supposed to be keeping watch and not peering through binoculars at odd geeky artifacts. Nope.

“I mean, I know what it looks like,” Sam went on, “but... it’s been, what, less than five centuries since Izanami would have stopped controlling this world? It can’t be.”

Teal’c slid a glance at one definitely not fidgeting colonel, and raised a brow. “What is it that it cannot be, Major Carter?”

“I think we should ask an expert.” Daniel mused, stepping back from the railing. “Jack? What’s that look like to you?”

Binoculars up. Aim the focus that way, look for thin weeds and gravel and... whoa. “It’s rails.” More than that, because from the distance finder and what he could see following wooden ties and metal lines toward a distant city wall.... “Danny. Those are _train tracks_.”

Daniel was already shaking his head. “We don’t know that.”

“Yes we do.” Jack pointed, where tracks led toward a nest of more tracks, radiating from or passing through the hoop-shaped tunnels of a massive wood and stone structure. At least one track led into and through a section of rail with paired towers, support cables half overgrown with climbing vines. “Because that’s a railyard. With a freaking _turntable_.”

Ooo, cue geeks lighting up like Christmas. And Teal’c giving a raised brow not a second later. “I did not see a turntable in your Westerns, O’Neill.” With the silent, _and why is that important?_ tacked on.

“When they laid track out West, they had plenty of room to make loops and turn-offs,” Jack obliged. “I’m guessing the rails here came after the city, so - not so much room. A turntable lets you turn the locomotive around to attach it to different ends of the train. Means they probably had trains going both ways on each of those sets of tracks. And _that_ means this wasn’t some special project for one spot, hauling bigwigs or one kind of freight. They had a transport system.” Which was a breath of relief right there, because if the locals had fled in terror from Ma’chello in full Mad Scientist cackle, they would have had a way to get out.

“Those _could_ just be ceremonial towers....” Though the rueful smile on Daniel’s face made it clear he was just raising the objection because hey, offworld, you couldn’t take anything for granted. “But it does look like an antique railyard. Almost like old Victorian photos. Or Japan in Meiji.”

Which was a whole barrel of interesting right there, Jack thought, because SG-1 usually ran into one of two tech levels. A lot more advanced than Earth, or a lot _less_. As in Middle Ages, serfs or Viking raiders less. Something that could have fit into Dodge City when it had marshals and cattle drives? That was different.

“So why trains and not roads?” Sam thought out loud. “Although maybe there are roads under the overgrowth, more than just the street avenues.”

“It could be they’re a less individualistic society,” Daniel mused. “Or it could be they have some kind of bulk freight that’s more efficient to transport on specific routes, like - well, like bringing livestock to cities this size. Whatever the reason, it would have changed their society drastically. No wonder they’re not right here by the ‘Gate. If there was any localized threat, or even a panic - trains make them _mobile_. And organized. They’re going to have clocks.”

Oh boy. Anthropologist warming up. This was going to be fun. “Clocks?” Jack asked skeptically. “Why- oh. You think people on another planet finally got the trains to run on time?”

“Very funny.” Daniel gave him an amused glance. “No, seriously, Jack. Trains changed people all over Earth from thinking about local territory to thinking about _time_. Clocks. Watches. Time zones. Everything changed from local noon to time tied to _other places_. There are sociologists today who think we still haven’t gotten over that.”

Jack did a double-take. No, from that face, Danny was _not_ pulling his leg. “Don’t tell me they blame World War II on train schedules.”

“Well... yeah, kind of.” Daniel tapped his glasses. “Trains led to big organizations, everybody following schedules, a lot less wiggle room in society to do something that didn’t fit the orders coming down. They tied whole countries together, so people had more in common with the rest of their nation than the people who lived near them right across the border. Instead of selling to your neighbors or merchants just moving expensive goods around, now the whole nation was the market. A cowhand in Texas could be wearing shirts made back East, Chicago swallowed cattle from across the states. Trains made it easier and faster to carry money, news, rumors, troops....”

Jack held up a hand. “Okay, so, yeah. Maybe not ‘cause of’ but ‘major contributing factor to’, right? So... what’s that mean for right here?”

“We need to look around in the city more,” Daniel started.

Of course they did. But hey, mad scientist lab to look for anyway. Two birds, one naquadah stone, or something like that.

“But if I were going to guess?”

Jack shrugged. “Guess away.”

“If trains are a major part of their society, then they’re probably going to have a common language, a unified financial system, and a pretty uniform system of laws. Because people travel, and they need to know what’s legal in one place, and not in others,” Daniel obliged. “They also probably have a good communications system, they need that to keep trains from running into each other. So we should put our best foot forward meeting anyone, because the word _will_ get around.”

“Polite and civilized,” Jack nodded affably. “We can do that.” And he was just going to ignore how Teal’c’s stoic had gone just a _little_ more deliberately blank than usual.

Contrary to what half the airmen on base thought, Teal’c had a perfectly good sense of humor. Including sarcasm. He just chose not to inflict it on random passers-by, the better to scare the heck out of people in interrogation by looming at them.

...And SG-1 _could so_ do polite. As long as it wasn’t System Lords. Or Tok’ra. Or nose in the air Tollans. Or... yeah, okay, so there were a lot of way-too-highly-advanced people Jack had a hard time keeping a straight face around. People who’d come up with trains? They ought to be cool. 

Stoic went alert. “O’Neill.” Teal’c nodded toward the railyard. “Something approaches from beyond the wall.”

Daniel twitched. “Something?”

 _Maybe not the best word choice,_ Jack thought, eyeing the Jaffa just a hair askance. Given the last Ma’chello-something had landed Danny in an insane asylum when he _was not crazy_. Ugh.

Teal’c glanced at the tracks, then back at the stone arches. “I believe we may yet put our feet forward, Daniel Jackson.”

Jack raised his binoculars as his team tensed with anticipation, a grin tugging at his lips despite all the stuff that could now potentially go wrong. Because hot damn, _people_ -

Steel powered under a railyard arch, and Jack’s gut clenched.

Big; at least as big as a freight train back home. Only Earth trains were built just heavy enough to move cargo. Every ounce over that cost more to power across the country, and freight ran on who could pinch the most pennies and still get stuff there on time and mostly intact.

Whoever’d built this train had thrown fuel costs out the window, because this sucker was _armored_. Heavy steel, riveted within an inch of its life; train cars with doors that the binoculars swore sealed down like a nuclear sub. Steaming slow, the locomotive led with a prow like an icebreaker, edged with a railing perfect for perching snipers on, all stained rust-red with what Jack’s sinking stomach knew had to be dried blood.

Dead silence around him. Well. Yeah.

Jack lowered his binoculars slow and careful; sun-flash would be bad. “All right, people. Back under cover. Nice and easy.”

Said something about how shocked Daniel was that the archaeologist double-timed it into the temple shadows right along with the rest of them. For which Jack could not blame him one bit. His own brain was having a little trouble with the double-image. _Train_ was supposed to be something nice, clean, civilized. What had just pulled in....

Cloaked in balcony-cast shadows, Teal’c glanced back toward the railyard. “That is not typical of trains found on Earth.”

“That’s not typical of trains _anywhere_ ,” Jack said dryly. Made himself take a breath, going over the image burned into his eyeballs. And trying to ignore the grislier details. There’d been something on the last segment of that oversized locomotive, just before the first car; long and cylindrical and... oh. “It has armor. And a _freaking cannon_.”

Sam shuddered, stepping a little closer to a red column; probably for the comfort of something solid at her back. “Not to mention _blood all over the front_.”

“Um.” Daniel swallowed. “Do we really want to talk to these people?”

“It is possible they would have information on Ma’chello’s creations.” Teal’c paused, giving the archaeologist a quietly sympathetic look. “But the armament of that vehicle implies there will also be armed warriors to guard it. If their weapons are as advanced as those Tau’ri who built the iron horses of your western lore, we would be hard-pressed to defend ourselves.”

Daniel paled a little. “You think they have guns?”

Jack opened his mouth to point out that, hey, the interplanetary archaeologist should be the first guy arguing that Victorian-style steam engine and cannon did not mean also _guns_ -

Except that railing. And that armor.

“They might. Or something. People don’t usually armor-plate things just for the hell of it.” Sam let out a breath, hand just brushing over the black metal of her main gun. “Sir, MP5 penetration is good, and if the rest of their tech is just advanced enough for rails they probably don’t have bulletproof vests - but that looks like a lot more than an inch of steel.”

So it did. “You know, people, we could always hop off-planet and come back later.” Jack swept his gaze over his team; look confident, and people would calm down on their own. “Doomtrain’s probably got a schedule to keep. Give it an hour, three, it might be gone, and we could poke around to our heart’s content.” He paused. “That said, we’re here _now_ , we know where they are, and unless they had some eagle-eyed guy on lookout none of us spotted, they’ve got no idea we’re here. I propose we be nice, quiet little mices, and go poke around the city for more info. And maybe a crazy scientist lab or two. _Quietly_.”

* * *

 

“This place should come with a map,” Jack grumbled, as his team finally backtracked off the last of the little mountain trails that twisted around on themselves like spaghetti, and tromped their way down toward the big fancy red gate with all the filigree under a knife-sharp pagoda top.

“Temple complex,” Daniel said practically. “They tend to develop odd nooks and alcoves as various deities and demigods come into and out of favor.” He waved a finger in a circle, encompassing the temple grounds in question. “I’d actually say this is a good sign that Teal’c’s info is right, and no System Lords have been here in centuries. Sacred sites with one specific Goa’uld looking after them tend to be a little more... streamlined.”

“Because heaven forbid the snakes should share any of the glory,” Jack agreed. Halted, just before they hit the last steps, because now they were mostly past the screen of trees and _whoa_.

Sam picked her jaw up first, staring at the city just yards away. “That is... dense.”

Indeed it was. Jack had walked streets in Tokyo that hadn’t been that jam-packed with building crammed next to building - or sometimes under building, or over building, or even a combo thereof on some of the steeper hillslopes. Of which there were a _lot_. No wonder the railyard had a turntable. It was probably jammed into most of the free flat land that’d been left over.

“They have trains,” Daniel said, half under his breath. “I hope they got to indoor plumbing, too.”

“Danny,” Jack said flatly. _“Why.”_

“Um. Well. Janet and I were talking about offworld hazards, because Ma’chello, and... crowd diseases. Were a big thing in cities, up until- Well, even now,” Daniel shrugged. “So far we’ve been lucky and the Goa’uld missed bringing things like cholera to new planets. But this is the kind of place just one stray bacterium that got a taste for humans would love.”

“Water treatment tabs and filters,” Sam stated, staring downhill at streets spread like bones of a fan. “You too, Teal’c. Just in case.”

“It is a sensible precaution,” the Jaffa agreed. “The city is quiet.”

That it was, and Jack clamped his jaw on _too quiet_. No sense tempting Murphy.

“Looks like this could have been souvenir street,” Jack said instead, eyeing faded awnings and creaky wood that he’d bet had been cheap moveable stalls a few years back. “Let’s see if we can find something nice to take home.”

Though honestly he’d be happier if they found not much of anything. If this city had been cleaned out and abandoned due to disease, superstition, somebody’s joss sticks falling the wrong way - heck, the bits Daniel had brought up on ancient Japan in the briefing said they’d sometimes abandoned _entire capital cities_ to shake off the bad luck of a former regime. It could happen.

Jack took a step off souvenir street into one of the bigger avenues leading downhill, and his heart sank again.

It wasn’t much. Just a little broken pinwheel, blades battered down by wind and rain where it lay against the foot of a building. Could have blown off one of the stands any day and been forgotten. The stone-and-wood multilevel it was leaning on didn’t look damaged....

Only the front door was wide open, a cloth curtain obviously meant to provide a little extra shade for incoming customers tattered and faded to speckled gray. It _felt_ empty, in that way he’d learned to hate over in the Middle East.

 _Nobody’s living in there. Doesn’t mean everybody’s gone_.

“O’Neill?”

Jack glanced at the Jaffa, who was keeping his eyes on the high points around them. Good man. Cities really, really _sucked_ for ambushes. “You hear anything?”

“Only the local wildlife.” Teal’c frowned. “If there are humans remaining within this city, they are not near.”

“You think there could still be-” Daniel stopped, obviously dragging his attention back from cobbled streets and fancy lion-esque gargoyles on the tallest buildings to think that through again. “Armored train. Right. They obviously think somebody in the area doesn’t like them much.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Sam muttered.

“Maybe they just took to drive hunting in a big way,” Jack said impishly. “Think about it, Major. Maybe they’ve got some kind of massive super-buffalo running in herds out there, and regular ol’ cow-catchers just don’t cut it when you’re trying to get the mail through.”

“Sir, if you’re trying to make me feel any better....”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Not working?”

“No, sir.”

But her lips had twitched. Good. Being wary in an empty city, or one that wasn’t _quite_ empty, was good. Letting your nerves wind themselves into knots that made a violin look hippy-loose was not.

Shifting his shoulders under his pack, Jack eyed the streets upon streets they’d have to work their way through. “Next time we should send a UAV through so we can map this mess.... Okay, people, much as I’d like to spend the whole week poking this place - Ma’chello. Let’s work smarter, not harder. Assuming he put his lab close to the ‘Gate-” He waved a hand across the cityscape. “Where?”

“That, is a good question.” Daniel looked down the street they were on, then craned his head to look over the general up-and-down folds of the underlying hillscape.

Jack nodded to himself, waiting. Looked like Daniel had already thought about this, which he’d expected; but hadn’t been willing to commit until he’d gotten a chance to see more than just the other side of the ‘Gate. Which Jack had also expected, frustrating as that might be to a hapless overworked colonel who wanted everything nailed down as much as possible before they tripped off to a new planet. Some things you just couldn’t predict without seeing for yourself.

“Temple complex on the mountain, fits with Japanese - wonder if Izanami moved the ‘Gate on this world after she took it over from Tiw, that would fit-”

“Hill,” Jack said firmly. “Big hill.”

“ _Local_ mountain, Jack, it has to do with centers of spiritual power- Anyway. Temple’s on the edge of the city, looks like streets grew up to meet it....” The archaeologist peered down one of the snaking avenues. “And the edge streets here are twisty, but toward the center it starts looking more like a grid. That would fit with Japanese sacred cities. So if we want to find noble or city-temple power centers, we should look in there-”

Jack held up a hand. “Hold it. Ma’chello got protected by people on some planets, sure. But do we know he had an in here?”

“If he brought equipment through the ‘Gate, sir, I think someone would have had to have noticed,” Sam said practically.

“Exactly,” Daniel nodded. “He got onto this world, he got off of this world - he had to have reliable access to the ‘Gate and it’s in a _major temple_. With a lot of wood in the construction. I don’t know how long it’s been abandoned but I can almost guarantee it was active while he was here.”

“Meaning he had an in with the guys who ran the place,” Jack concluded. “Okay, fair. But why not set up _in_ the temple?”

Now Daniel gave him a raised brow. “Jack. Would you try to run scientific experiments in the Sistine Chapel? In tourist season?”

“...Point.” 

Teal’c looked downhill, a gaze older than any of them probably weighing a dozen factors about Goa’uld and Goa’uld-resisters Jack hadn’t learned yet. “The location of Ma’chello’s lab may depend on how much the inhabitants knew of the perils of his work.”

Ooo, and that was a nasty thought. “I’m guessing, not damn much,” Jack said flatly. Glanced at a flash of movement - leaf blowing down the street, down boy. “Body-swapping machines, little assassin things that just happen to drive average people insane- No. Unless the guys in charge here were complete and total _idiots_ , if they’d had clue one about the kinds of things Ma’chello would pull to fight Goa’uld, they’d have locked him up in a supermax, no one in or out, if they let him work at all.”

Frankly Jack would have just dropped the guy off the nearest cliff. But then again he might be just a bit touchy about having to watch his best friend struggle not to die while Ma’chello gallivanted off with Daniel’s body _and_ credit cards. Just a bit.

“Actually that helps.” Daniel tapped his glasses up again, looking over the streets they could see with renewed interest. “He was on a planet the Goa’uld forgot, so he didn’t have to hide who he was. He came through the ‘Gate, which would connect him to spirits, but people here have technology; I’d bet the local nobles would have seen him as an inventor as well.”

Aha. Jack thought he knew where this was headed. “And when Da Vinci shows up in your backyard, you don’t let him wander too far,” Jack stated. “We should look for a noble house?”

“Or a big industrial complex closely tied to one,” Daniel nodded. “If this city is as much like ancient Japan as it looks, power-ties usually mean close physical location, as well.”

 _If_ always being the word, offworld. “So we look at the top of hills,” Jack concluded. Because nobles. And humans. Being able to look down on everybody lower than you was a thing.

That got one of Danny’s rare delighted shy grins. “Kind of comforting knowing people don’t change much across the galaxy.”

Actually, yes. Made it easier for a twitchy colonel to plan where to aim. “Okay, people. Stairmaster workout time.” Ooo, his knees were going to hate him for this tomorrow....

Then again, aching knees versus creepy mad science sneaking up on the SGC when some Goa’uld did finally poke this world again. Aching knees were _much_ better.

Besides. It was pretty easy to ignore grumpy knees when the hill areas they climbed seemed less empty and abandoned and more... damaged. Broken windowpanes, yeah, sure, time and wind could do that; and he made sure they stopped long enough for Sam to get some sharp transparent samples, because apparently glassworks could tell you a _lot_ about a planet’s tech, priorities, and available minerals.

Broken-out windows, though... those were a little harder to explain as just weather and general entropy. Especially the ones that’d been broken _in_ , glass and shattered rails in a scuffed scatter across the floors inside that said _somebody_ had come in fast, hard, and not caring what they stomped on. He almost hoped they’d had good boots, because _ow_.

A tangle of white and faded black in the shadows resolved into an old ragdoll with yarn hair, dropped limp just beyond glinting fragments.

_This was someone’s house. There was a kid here. What happened?_

Teal’c held up a clenched fist.

Jack stopped, noting with relieved amusement that both his geeks dragged their attention back to stop a half-second later. Not too bad. Especially when they were _supposed_ to be poking things.

He kept his mouth shut, though, glancing at the pair to make sure they kept quiet as well. When Teal’c’s brows drew down like that, the guy was _listening_.

Fifteen seconds. Half a minute.

Teal’c breathed out, shallow and soundless. Jack frowned, and held up a hand at Daniel when the archaeologist almost opened his mouth.

Two more minutes, and Teal’c straightened.

Jack added up that not-quite-happy stoic and the firm grip on the staff weapon, and breathed out. “Somebody’s here.”

“I am... uncertain.” Teal’c listened again, and minutely shook his head. “It could merely be animals. Humans seem most drawn to our visits. The interest Daniel Jackson displays in the details of daily life is usually evidence that we mean no harm.”

And hadn’t that saved their bacon a time or twenty. “Maybe they’re just shy,” Jack quipped. “Give ‘em time, they’ll come around. Meantime, let’s keep looking. Be great if we could spot _something_ that tells us which hill to-”

Sam blinked, and lifted a hand, pointing. More-or-less behind him, which if his mental map was right would be back toward the railyard, and heading anywhere near Doomtrain was not what he had in mind....

Dark metal, speckled with rust, arched partway into the sky.

Daniel got his voice back first, raising the videocamera to catch the clearest shot. “Is that an elevated track?”

“Part of one,” Jack mused, eyeing how supported metal came to an abrupt and ominous end just after it dipped down toward the railyard. Hey, _somebody_ had to state the obvious. And since science geeks did the genius stuff, and Teal’c did the stuff with no words but deadpan looks, that left one hapless colonel for the job. He shaded his eyes with his hand; morning hadn’t gotten away from them too much, but man, summer sun was bright on this planet. “Curves a little, don’t see any other track near it... can’t get a good look where it hits ground from here, but I’m guessing that’s a spur line.”

“So... a special piece of rail?” Daniel brightened.

“And we’re looking for a _special_ scientist’s lab,” Sam said dryly.

Heh. Looked like Sam hadn’t gotten over trying to keep track of body-musical-chairs, either. Which, fair. Sometimes Jack still had nightmares about shaving Teal’c’s-then-his-head, and that was cruelty to any man with hair. “Looks like... two hills over,” Jack concluded, hoping he was reading the landscape right. Sigh. No rest for the wicked.

Looked like they were finally heading the right way, though. At least if the ever-increasing signs of damage to windows, walls, and the wreck of stray overturned push-carts was any way to judge.

Halfway up the second hill, Jack held up a fist. “Danny. Get that.”

“Get- _oh_.”

Drawing his combat knife, Jack let out a deliberate breath, confident Teal’c and Sam would keep eyes and ears open while Daniel filmed him digging at a weathered but very suspicious glancing hole in what looked like an ornate fancy wood column of someone’s front gate.

Two careful probes, and a slanted mushroom-lump of familiar dull gray surfaced. Jack held up the slug, then weighed it in his hand, eyeing the direction the ricochet must have come from.

“Jack?”

“Guns confirmed,” Jack grumped.

“I see that.” To Danny’s credit, he didn’t seem too fazed. “What else?”

Oh boy this bit was even less fun than _the locals are probably armed_. “This hit something a lot harder than wood. And bounced.”

“Huh.” Daniel panned the camera up to some kind of faded indigo hanging still rustling in the wind. Frowned, and slung it over his shoulder again to take out old-fashioned pencil and site journal.

Juggling bent lead in his hand, Jack eyed the symbol etched in dull white against blue. Nothing that jumped out at him as Ancient or Goa’uld or, god forbid, Furling. And wouldn’t that have been just SG-1’s luck, to find traces of the enigmatic Fourth Race of the Asgard alliance on an empty ex-Goa’uld planet?

But, no. Didn’t look alien at all. Just a rough human-style circle crossed with some diagonal slashes, and two more vertical slashes that made it look kind of like a house in front of the sun.

Well, from the quiet pencil-scritch beside him, at least Danny had it scribbled it down in his journal. Just in case it turned out to be the secret code to the Lost Temple of Whatever. Granted, most alien races they’d run across so far had inscribed those in things a little more permanent than hanging buntings, but you never knew.

“Perhaps the Goa’uld are no longer unaware of this world.” Teal’c took one long look at the smushed bullet, then glanced the likely ricochet direction himself. “If the muzzle velocity were not as high as modern Tau’ri weapons, that could have rebounded from Jaffa armor.”

“A System Lord raid would go a long way toward depopulating the city,” Sam agreed.

It would, yeah. Meaning this whole trip might be for nothing and Ma’chello’s unknown power source might be in snake hands already. But. “Couple problems with that, Major,” Jack pointed out. “First off, Goa’uld tend to leave a slave population behind to come and cull later.”

“Except _this_ population developed advanced technology,” Sam argued. “If I were a System Lord, I wouldn’t leave any humans on a world where they’d managed that the first time. We have a habit of learning from the past.”

Heh. True that; see their friendly local archaeologist. “Doomtrain.”

“Sir, it’s a train. It could have just not been _here_.” Sam shrugged. “I’m not sure how many System Lords would recognize that tracks mean people could have gone somewhere else.”

Fair point. The Goa’uld seemed to keep a tight grip on areas a couple miles around the ‘Gate, and mostly ignored anything outside that radius that didn’t go boom. Which was how Teal’c’s family had managed to stay off the grid on Chulak as long as they had.

“It could also be that a System Lord just didn’t want the people on the trains,” Daniel mused.

“Eh?” Jack had to look at him askance at that one. Because _why_. “Goa’uld see human, Goa’uld grab slave.”

“There are many reasons a false god would wish to cull only specific humans from a planet,” Teal’c noted. “A desire for strong and healthy slaves. The seizure of an entire village - or city - to colonize a new planet.”

The grabbing of specific lovely humans to be new hosts, and Jack did not want to bring that up around Daniel again anytime soon. Burying Sha’uri had been... bad. Very. “Okay. So. Any specific reason you think the people on the trains are different from the ones that settled here?”

Daniel circled a finger to encompass the city as a whole. “Where does this place feel like? Besides not Earth. Culturally. The architecture. How people build is important.”

Yeah, this city looked more like old Kyoto than anything out of the Germanic line- Oh. “You’re saying the train doesn’t have the same... style.”

“It’d explain why anyone here isn’t coming out,” Daniel nodded. “If we don’t match the local style of dress, they’d probably assume we’re with the train and stay out of sight. Until they get up the nerve to find out for sure.”

Said finding out for sure would likely be armed, if Jack knew people. If there were people here. Which, he wasn’t about to bet there weren’t. That way lay not being properly paranoid, which got careless colonels and their teams dead.

“Okay, possible,” Jack allowed. “But that brings up _second_ off: Goa’uld forces marching through would mean Jaffa weapons here, there, and everywhere.” He waved his hand in more-or-less the same circle. “Haven’t seen anything that looks like death glider strafing runs, and haven’t seen any wreckage that’s definitely from a staff blast. Have you?”

Headshakes all around. Nice to have people agree on something. “And third off, couldn’t have been someone pulling a Nirrti, or we’d have bones in the street,” Jack finished. Did a mental _eww_ at the thought, then sighed and eyed Daniel. “We would have bones in the street, right?”

“Maybe not in the street, depending on weathering and... well, opportunistic scavengers.” Daniel frowned, glancing back down the winding ways they’d taken to get here. “But if there had been a mass plague event - we should have seen some in the houses.” 

Yeah. What he’d thought. Which kind of left a big giant question mark hanging.

Sam scanned their perimeter again, hands in easy reach of her MP5. “What do you think happened here, sir?”

A street or so away, something wood clattered. Gray flashed in the sunlight; a couple local pigeons, Jack thought, catching their flutter away. Or something close enough for government work.

Teal’c was listening. They all were. But there didn’t seem to be any other sounds that weren’t wind moaning through an empty city.

 _Guess we must have knocked into something that finally fell over. Or rotted through_.

“Don’t know,” Jack allowed. “Let’s go find out.”

* * *

 

“Hills, hills, and more hills,” Jack huffed. What’d these people done, grabbed a section of mountains and shrunk them to micro-size? San Francisco streets would be green with envy. “I take it back, there’s nothing wrong with pine trees.”

“At least it looks like we’re headed the right way.” Filming as they walked, Daniel pointed toward yet another of those slashed-circle banners.

Jack eyed more suspicious holes and ricochet marks. A lot more. From the way Sam was almost biting her lip, the major saw them too. “Yep. I’d say we are.”

“O’Neill.” A solid anchor at their back, Teal’c nodded ahead and to their left.

Jack narrowed his eyes. Big complex, weathered wooden walls - no, wait. That looked an awful lot like concrete _painted_ to look like red-painted wood. Only a decade or so had let the paint start flaking off in ways that didn’t look at all like latex curling off planks. And the half-arc of spur steel led right down here, rails probably touching down around the corner a block or so away; if he knew anything about how people who did things big and industrial worked, so freight could go in the fort’s back door.

Granted, there was a lot of fancy roof ornamentation for a fort. But noble warehouse, fortified position - wasn’t a lot of difference, most places he’d ever been. He could count at least three spots on top of the wall that would have been perfect to perch armed guards, easy. “Okay, people. Let’s find the front door. We should at least look polite.”

“Anywhere this solidly built might still be used as shelter,” Daniel agreed. “And I think it has been. See the wear on the path?”

Huh. Point. Nothing that looked really fresh, though given they had no clue what the weather was usually like around here that was up for grabs. “Teal’c?”

The Jaffa crouched to more closely examine the faint not-exactly-a-trail they were following, just off the street outside the complex wall. “Many feet have passed here.”

Jack nodded. “Any idea when?”

A slow headshake. And a frown. “I do not think it was within the week. But there were many.”

...Right. Major temple around the ‘Gate just a few hills over, a solid place to take shelter for the night could get a lot of travelers even if the main city was doing a good impression of playing dead. Definitely needed to lean toward the polite end of the spectrum-

A little ahead, Sam waved. “I think we found the door, sir.”

This time it was red and white paint flaking off concrete, in the same sort of pagoda-kind of shape as the gate leading out of the mountain temple. Only this entryway was taller, with a sharper-edged roof, and iron-slatted gates sitting rusty and askew under yet another faded house-circle banner.

“I really want to know what that symbol means,” Daniel said, half to himself.

Jack checked the angle of sunlight compared to the morning they’d walked into, then checked his watch. Yep. “And I’m sure the general will want to hear all about it. Let’s fill him in before we poke the possible mad scientist lab with a stick.”

Another minute clicked over, and the reassuring crackle of the radio broadcast from the MALP came over their gear. “SG-1, do you read?”

“Loud and clear, General.” And oh what a relief it was, knowing the SGC hadn’t been bodysnatched or bombed or infected by who-knew-what in the two hours since they’d left. Some days it just wasn’t worth breaking out of the infirmary. “So far no contact with the locals. But there are some locals. Kind of. Not exactly.”

“Not _exactly_ local, Colonel?” That wry twist to Hammond’s words made it clear the general was running down his own laundry list of Impossible Ways Things Go Wrong Around Here. “Another Tollan case?”

“Nope.” Jack grinned. “These guys came in by train. Kind of the train from hell, and we’re hoping we don’t get a better look. Here’s what we know so far....”

Which pretty much added up to, locals have trains, have cannon, have _guns_ , do not look at all friendly, and Danny thought they might be a different group - race, culture, who knows - from whoever had lived in this way-too-hilly city. Or who might be living, they’d heard little noises but so far no faces had popped out.

“And you currently have no theories as to why this city was abandoned,” the general summed up.

“Nothing we have concrete evidence for, sir,” Sam stated. “It’d help if we could ask someone.”

Jack caught Teal’c’s twitch, and wondered if someone might be coming to them. Didn’t seem to be from the train direction, though. Maybe someone had circled around?

But then the Jaffa shook his head. Whatever it was had stopped.

“Asking would be good,” Jack allowed, before Danny could beat him to it. “But I think we ought to poke the maybe-lab first. Forgiveness, permission - you know how it goes.”

“If we could talk to someone, they might have information on what Ma’chello was doing,” Daniel argued. “It could help interpret the lab. If that is a lab.”

“Danny, if that is a lab and the not-locals know about it, they may want to shoot anybody who gets too near it on general principles,” Jack grumped. “And after those damn page-turners, I can’t even say I’d blame them. Much.” He shook his head. “Nope. We go in and check things out first. Then we try to make nice. From a distance.”

“Agreed,” General Hammond said, with just a little wistfulness that said he wished the SGC could find a few more friends and a few less people eager to shoot at them. “It won’t help anyone if you antagonize an overwhelming force too far from the ‘Gate to easily evac, Dr. Jackson-”

Huh. There was a rustle that was not just Teal’c twitching. Jack craned his head slowly from side to side, trying to pinpoint the source. Sounded like... inside the maybe-lab. Right. Daniel had said people might be camping out in there even if they weren’t anywhere else. Maybe somebody’d worked up enough nerve for a look.

Sidling sideways a little, Jack peered past the rusty gate. Hmm. Looked like a shallow courtyard leading to more concrete-covered corridors, and who knew how many levels dug underground. There might be a few movements in the shadows, but he wasn’t sure he saw anything besides some blowing leaves.

Hammond cleared his throat. “Well, you may not want to talk to them, Colonel, but someone apparently wants to talk to you.”

Maybe his heart jumped a smidge at that. Maybe. “Yeah?” Jack drawled.

“We’ve been getting an uncoded radio transmission on several frequencies,” the general stated. “Though whoever’s on the other end is paying attention; they’ve narrowed in on yours.”

So Doomtrain had radio on top of everything else. Terrific. No wonder whoever was rustling around in the dark was shy. If those were people back there; though when he squinted, he thought he could see a little light moving around in the concrete shadows. So probably people. Wary, scared people.

Sam glanced toward the rustles too, taking a step sideways so whoever it was would have a good view of their friendliest teammate. Because nine times out of ten Danny made even the nastiest guys with alien tech at least pause and reflect before they started demanding anything. “You think they’re listening to us? That would mean they could break the algorithms-”

“I doubt it, Major,” Hammond said firmly. “From what we’re getting through the MALP, it’s a plain-vanilla radio broadcast. I’d almost call it ham-radio style, if I could understand a word the young lady was saying. My guess would be they’ve only detected that another radio is transmitting.” He paused. “She sounds concerned, Colonel. You plan to pick up?”

Jack sighed, already adjusting his radio; they didn’t usually take the encryption _off_ , but it was an option. Possibly because whoever’d gotten the military radio contract was a diehard Post-Apocalypse Prepper and figured everyone who survived would be hamming it up in Morse. And oh sure fine, nothing beat high-tension radio negotiations with possibly homicidal planetary locals who had the sneaky guts to put a lady on the line to lure in poor, unsuspecting visitors. Though Danny would probably use just the right words to keep the bloodthirsty guys off-balance, and still let the scared locals overhear things that might convince them SG-1 was harmless to _them_.

Well. Time to make nice with the Doomtrain Overlords-

The lights in the shadows.

Were moving.

Fast.

And it - they - had _fangs_ -

The _spang_ of Parabellum rounds off gray forms was definitely up in the top ten of Worst Sounds Ever. Or maybe make that top twenty, Jack amended as they ran, given he now had to add the wheeze of breath dragged into unhealthy lungs, the pounding of fast, heavy feet; the exhaled screams like air being strangled, raising echoes from elsewhere in the city-

 _Oh hell. Not echoes, there are_ more _of them-!_

Yards from the complex gate. A splash of sunlight, Jack glanced back for a good look... and wished he hadn’t.

Skin gray as iron. Lava-glowing veins radiated out from the chest; the same fire burning in wide, hunting eyes. Ragged bits of cloth clung to fast-lurching forms, gray skin jiggling in ways no man should ever have to see.

Some of them were carrying cleavers.

“-People!” Daniel gasped; still running, thank god. “Those were-!”

“Less talk, more run!” Because Jack had already added that up, thank you so _very_ much, Universe, and if Ma’chello had let whatever this was loose the bastard had not died hard enough. “Teal’c!”

The staff weapon _boomed_. Jack kept running anyway, because his team would keep moving as long as he did and hey, a little paranoia never hurt anyone....

Dust cleared to show Teal’c’s targeted crowd had barely slowed. One had been hit, gray flesh had peeled back from iron-black bone over its glowing heart - but it was already rising from hands and one knee. And it looked _ticked_.

 _It just knocked them back. Ah hell, what do we do, we’re a half-hour from the ‘Gate as the crow flies and none of us have wings_ -

“-This is the _Koutetsujou_ on salvage and rescue!” A young woman’s voice on his radio; fast, but _controlled,_ not panic. “We hear your gunfire! Hold out; we’re coming for you!”

The _Iron Fortress?_ Great, Doomtrain had a name-

Jack’s gut flip-flopped. Armored train. Armored, _gore-smeared_ train, with people in it that apparently considered gunfire something to run _towards_.... “Hold out? Hold out _where?_ ”

That got a deliberate pause on the radio. The kind he was more used to hearing from Hammond when the general was trying to figure out what SG-1 had stepped in this time. “Find a high point. Use the knockback!”

Knockback? What the heck did she- waaaaait a minute.

Still running, Jack twisted, and let a three-round burst fly at oncoming death.

 _Spang! Spang! Spong_ -

One gray body tumbled, twisting around and tangling three others as it tried to get back to its feet. Most of the rest of the oncoming horde parted, flooding after them; but a significant fraction just kept running straight, adding to the fanged tangle.

“Knockback,” Jack gasped over the radio, grateful for the yards they’d gained between them and iron-skinned death. “ _Thank_ you.”

Because he wouldn’t have thought of that because _bullets didn’t work that way_ -

On Earth. Bullets didn’t work that way on Earth, with regular-type targets. Obviously SG-1’s luck had struck again. _Argh_.

Okay, life-saving tip equaled Doomtrain or not, radio guys _might_ not be the bad guys. And high ground against a zombie zerg rush was just common sense anyway. So. Keep the compound wall on one side, one less direction for fangy death, and run like hell until they found some.

A glance back to make sure nobody’d tripped - gunfire was _not_ a sure sign someone was on their feet - gave Jack a glimpse of the temple, trees and all. Only, there was gray and bits of yellow glow through the trees, and to be able to see that this far away-

Um. And there was more lava-lined-gray on the streets. And through windows, as they rounded another corner. And the _rooftops_.

 _Oh hell. Not just the temple. They’re_ everywhere.

“Sir!”

Jack glanced where Sam had waved her MP5; a range sergeant would tear strips off, but he wasn’t complaining, not when the major had to turn quick and fire another burst to knock back more of the unwelcoming committee. Apparently they’d just found the compound’s back door, a wide and broken-down gate. And just opposite said gate, maybe two train car lengths and change away - a steel-and-concrete platform, wide as a small house and a good eight feet off the ground, right next to the gleaming steel of the spur tracks.

 _Loading platform? Something like. Best ground we’re going to get_. “Up there!”

He scrambled up the metal stairs first, careful not to grip the railings too hard in case of rust and weak spots. Maybe they’d get lucky, and these whatever-was-after-them wouldn’t be able to climb stairs-

Turning at the top to cover Teal’c as the rest of the team made the stairs ring, Jack saw gray hands grip the railing, and knew they were nowhere near that lucky.

 _Three-round bursts. Keep knocking them back_. Jack shot, breathed out, shot again. _Staff weapon peeled them a little, maybe enough rounds in the same spot-?_

Heh. Yeah, right. Action movies and cheesy videogames aside, putting multiple rounds on the exact same spot when said spot was actively moving and _trying to eat you_ was seriously not happening. Maybe a sniper a calm half-mile away could pull it off. Maybe. Here and now, where SG-1 was pretty much shooting on all four sides to keep the growing horde from surging up at them like a faceless gray tide? Noooot so much.

Except the monsters _weren’t_ a faceless tide. That would be too easy. They were fanged and horrid and had breath like decay and old blood - but Jack could see shadows of the humans they’d been. One ash-skinned guy in not much more than a loincloth, gray hair still half-tied up in some kind of topknot. A woman, the remains of a tattered purple robe falling off her shoulders as she shrieked and lunged, lava-laced breasts bared to the world. An old balding grandpa, only half the fangs of all the others, just as fast and dangerous before Teal’c’s staff blast knocked him halfway back to the compound wall.

Teal’c shifted his aim to the next group, deliberately picking a massive one to fell that might tangle more of the others. “O’Neill. I believe I understand why the city was abandoned.”

“Oh, ya _think?_ ” But they had a little room to _experiment_ , now.

 _So. Think. And think fast. Zats? Hahaha_ no. _If Teal’c’s staff blasts just peel ‘em, “great pain” would just_ tick them off.

And if he went for more than that - again, time needed to land two-plus shots on the same lunging rabid figure in a _horde_ of rabid figures when it might not even work. And... glowing chest. Furnace-orange. Almost Goa’uld-weapon-orange. With veins radiating out to the rest of the body like fuel lines.

 _If they’ve got some kind of weird alien power source running a dead body - hitting that with a zat blast might be a_ very bad idea.

Then again, if whatever it was _was_ running a dead body... Jack sighted on a glowing eye, and shot.

Good shot. All kinds of ugly gore spurting out the front. And outside of a lurch of head to one side, it didn’t slow his target one little bit. “Oh, shi- General, headshots _do not work_ and pop culture is a lying liar who lies!”

“SG-1.” For once, Hammond sounded taken aback. “Are you....”

 _Wait for it. Waaaaaait for it_....

“Are you in the middle of a _zombie apocalypse?_ ”

“Carter, Danny,” Jack ordered, already lining up more torso shots. Damned movies.

“It, ah, looks that way, General.” Sam sounded almost bemused, as she shot back a particularly persistent one clutching a kitchen knife. “Except the zombies use weapons.”

“Izanami was a goddess of creation and death.” And that was Daniel in dazed scholar think-about-this-later mode, keeping his side of the platform clear with a white face and good shot placement. “Maybe she...? But you would have heard about something like this, Teal’c. Wouldn’t you?”

“Izanami perished long before this city was abandoned,” Teal’c said firmly. “We will seek answers later, Daniel Jackson.”

Jack grimaced, mentally tallying ammo counts and biting back, _If we_ have _a later_ -

Teal’c’s head jerked up, hairless brow rising in surprise.

Knocking back another gray form too close to the stairs, Jack almost started himself. Because that sound, like a ripping mechanical growl....

Sam glanced that way for just a second, before shooting back one on her own side. “Sir - those sound like bikes!”

 _Bikes, hell, what we need is a tank!_ But Jack kept that thought behind his teeth as he lined up his next shot. Hills like this weren’t exactly good tank country. If the locals thought flying cavalry was the answer, he was at least going to hear them out. And hope there were a lot of ‘em-

The yellow glow on Jack’s target erupted in blue sparks, with a screech like compressed air driving steel. The gray body convulsed-

Fell, leaking blood in a spreading puddle of carmine.

Didn’t move.

Engines roared, two heavy bikes flinging themselves into the gap in the mob just in front of the stairs. The pale-haired rider took the lead, closer to the mob, revving his engine as his passenger, wrapped in tattered red, slipped off toward the stairs. Followed close by the second passenger, who had guns akimbo, jacket sleeves a paler pink than her partner, the same kind of odd wrap-around headgear as the lead biker but bright with brass, and... a really short leather skirt.

 _Four people? A whole train and they sent_ four people?

But there was a gray corpse on the ground, blood still flowing. Light fading from the center of mass, going black and dark.

It was like a ripple through the horde; yellow-orange glows turning, fiery eyes staring at the body that _was not getting back up_.

“Hold your fire,” Jack ordered, low and grim. Because he knew that flow of movement the odd pair were using to reach the stairs. Red-cloak and Pink-sleeves were ghosting along, getting as close to SG-1 as they could, counting on the enemy’s attention having been yanked elsewhere by dramatic flashy _death_.

On the one hand, good, these things could be shocked. On the other hand... oh hell, these were _not_ typical zombies, they could _think_ -!

White-hair revved his engine again, teeth bared. “Oi, Ikoma! Mosquito!” A flashy twirl of steel and wood, and some kind of gun was in his gloved hand; tube running from it to the bike itself. “Don’t get dead!”

Three more deliberate shots. Each pierced a yellow glow with screaming blue sparks, gray bodies seizing and falling.

_“Rokkon Shojo!”_

_Be purified in body and soul_ wasn’t what Jack would have come up with first for a war cry. But from the way the mob stiffened, the words might not matter. The _tone_ sure as hell came through.

Cackling, the two bikes popped wheelies, and tore out of sight like... well. Like guys trying to outrun a whole zombie horde, because gray throats shrieked like banshees and raced after them.

“You too, Uryuu,” Red-cloak muttered. Took a breath, eyeing a few gray stragglers shuffling out of a nearby alley, and glanced over SG-1, odd-lensed glasses catching the sun. A gloved hand adjusted something that looked like the evil steampunk ancestor of all nailguns, heavy and riveted as the steel-on-leather collar guarding a pale throat. “Is this everyone who made it?”

“Yeah, this is... all of us.” Jack swallowed down a flicker of perfectly reasonable panic. Because in his experience people in the middle of ravening hordes didn’t waste extra words, and this guy could have stopped with _everyone_.

 _Everyone who made it. They lose people going up against these things. They expect it_.

Which implied that either these two were the best Doomtrain could send, or they were expendable. Oh. Great.

Well nobody else was getting lost on his watch. “O’Neill,” Jack jerked a thumb at himself, then at the rest of the team in sequence. “Daniel, Carter, Teal’c. So are you Ikoma or Mosquito?”

The young girl smirked, checking an odd dial on one of her guns. “He’s Ikoma. I’m Mumei. The _Koutetsujou_ ’s bodyguard.”

Aaaand check another tally in the “potentially evil” column, Jack thought, because what kind of people used a _teenage girl_ as a bodyguard-

Teeth flashed. Right, zombies now, dealing with morally gray locals later. Damn it.

“Um.” Daniel swallowed, gaze flicking between the slowly growing numbers of bodies heading their way again. At a slow lurch, not a run. Which was almost worse. “I kind of hate to ask this... but you do have a plan?”

“We had one.” For a little guy, Ikoma’s voice was low, almost as low as Teal’c’s, and more than a little dry. “What did you _do_ , wake up the whole city?”

The whole... oh. Jack glanced at his team, catching their obvious winces; Teal’c’s just a flicker of muscle, but there. Abandoned city. Noises in the shadows. That sneaking sense of _being watched_.

“Ah,” Daniel managed.

Buck stopped with the commanding officer. Jack shrugged. “Oops?”

...Apparently Ikoma did not appreciate the fine points of Air Force sarcasm _or_ the fact that one annoyed colonel had half a foot and more than twenty pounds on him, because that earned Jack a glare that could have peeled paint.

“Hmm....” Mumei shaded her eyes, gaze flicking between ominous glows. “Not the whole city. Probably just the local quarter.”

“Can we still cut a path?”

Mumei shook her head. “The horde’s swarming to here. It must have their scent.”

Evil smart fast zombies that worked on _scent_ , Jack grumped. No wonder these two were wearing red. Why bother with cammo when your enemy could smell you coming?

 _And we wandered all over town leaving a big bright “humans are here” trail. Okay, maybe Short and Cranky has some reasons to grouch_.

Ikoma breathed out, glancing from approaching fangs to the broken arc of wood and steel reaching into the sky. “Second plan.”

Oh, it was never ever good when the expert on the ground pulled out Plan B. At least Jack _hoped_ they were the experts. “And the second plan is...?”

“That spur goes over the closest track.”

“Yeah, what’s left of it-” Jack’s throat closed. Because no. No, no, no. “Are you absolutely _out of your mind?_ ”

Mumei licked a finger, held it up to test the wind. “Why does everybody say that?”

“Mumei will cut. I’ll clear. Follow, and _don’t stop_.” Ikoma crouched on the platform edge nearest the tracks. “On three. One.”

“Sir?” Sam gulped.

“Two.”

Jack grimaced, checking her nervous glance, Daniel’s paper-white face. At least Teal’c looked... okay, even Teal’c looked grim. But it was a controlled grim. “Get ready to run like hell, Major.”

“Three!”

Mumei’s leap put gymnasts to shame, landing her almost midway between them and the foot of the spur. And the kid _did_ shoot with guns akimbo. Which, what the hell, the recoil alone ought to be breaking her arms-

She didn’t even flinch. And every shot rained blue sparks and falling bodies.

Jump into a gun-cleared space in the middle of a mob of what his brain insisted were radioactive zombies ripped from the worst late-night horror movies. If Jack thought about it, he just might freeze. So he didn’t think.

 _Move, move - let the locals do their jobs and keep the monsters off, they’ve got the ammo to do it. Got to get Carter to look at that later. Keep half an eye on the ground, we’re running on_ train tracks, _if anyone trips we’re all_ dead....

Ikoma ran alongside and around them, feet dancing through the tracks like he knew every rail by heart. Guy wasn’t even breathing hard. 

 _He’s not shooting, guess that makes sense, these things pay attention to what hurts them_ -

A shadow caught Jack’s eye. From above.

_One got up onto the platform - oh hell these things can jump-!_

Ikoma was _there_ , left arm flung up, zombie fangs cracking on an armguard of thick leather and brass. His right brought up that not-a-nailgun in one quick, efficient punch to gray ribs-

Blast. Sparks. Body sliding free.

 _Oh. Close-range weapon. Guess that’s why he’s got the armguard_.

And Jack was going to shake _later_ , because that little move of Ikoma’s was too brutally smooth to be anything but practiced. Lots and lots of practice. Up close and personal with things that could and would tear your face off.

 _Expendable, good - could be they’re just plain_ crazy.

The rails rang underfoot, and they were climbing.

Mumei was well ahead of them, sniping behind so there were never more than one or two zombies right on their heels. Those, Ikoma dealt with; leaving bloody bodies draped here, there, and toppling off the spur to splat below. Eww-

Jack stopped, throwing his weight back to fight momentum, pack thumping against Daniel’s arm as the archaeologist flailed arms to bring himself to a stop. Because they’d almost run right over Mumei... and they were just about out of track.

The whistle vibrated right down his spine, as besmeared steel chugged around a curve their way. Not fast, not much faster than a human could run; and that made his gut clench, because oh yeah, Mumei was right, there were hordes coming and they were moving fast-

-And there was a line of riflemen on the locomotive, and more on some of the other cars. Picking off would-be hitchhikers with the grim precision Jack knew from too many target-rich environments.

 _They know what they’re doing. Against super-zombies. Freak-out_ later, _brain_.

Jack let out a huff, because damn, now Ikoma’s red cloak made sense. The zombies didn’t care, and the train could spot it a mile away....

Train. Track below. Track they were on, above and distinctly to one side where rails ended in mid-air.

Jack measured the gap with his eyes as the locomotive thundered toward them, and swore under his breath.

Teal’c moved up to gauge the distance, as Mumei picked off more gray hands scrabbling at the base of the spur. “The rest of SG-1 cannot make that jump.”

“Oh, so you can make it on your own?” Mumei beamed; holstering both guns, bouncing over two grown men, and grabbing Sam by the arms. “That’ll make this easy!”

“Wait, you _can-?_ ” Daniel cut himself off. “We’re actually going to- Wait, wait, _wait!_ ”

Mumei did not wait. Not more than the heartbeat it took for the locomotive to howl under them, cannon pointing forward. Sam clinging for dear life, Mumei braced before the next car started to pass under, then _leaped_.

Jack had just enough time to trade a blink with Teal’c, before the Jaffa gabbed Danny in the middle of the archaeologist’s _perfectly justifiable_ panic. Daniel over his shoulders, Teal’c took a few long steps backward, then bolted for empty air like a dark catapult.

Leaving him with Grumpy, Jack noted. Terrific.

Ikoma ducked and _moved_ , scooping him up left-armed like one colonel was a particularly lumpy sack of feathers. Jack had to yank his head back, as one swipe of gray fingers came a little too close-

And they were flying.

Impact _hurt_. Ikoma’d angled himself so he took the brunt of the blow, which helped, but whatever odd canister the guy was wearing on his back was hard and pointy and now had an intimate acquaintance with Jack’s kidneys. Owwww.

 _Pain later. Zombies now_.

Because oh yes, these things could think - or at least kind of think. More and more were climbing the spur to make the very same jump. And while at least half of them missed, and splatted in an impressively gory fashion... that left way too damn many _landing on the train_ , oh freaking hell-!

Gunshots. All around him. Screams.

Jack surged to his knees, looking for his team; speed was essential but he wouldn’t do anyone any good falling off the damn train. There was Sam, there were riflemen, there were zombies surfacing over the edge of the car roof, there was Teal’c blasting another before it could chomp either Danny or the pony-tailed guy helping them, there was a damn zombie _right in his face_ -

Dark blue blurred past him, and gray sailed off the train, bleeding. _“Taking the front!”_

...And the world had gone _completely nuts_ , because Jack could have sworn the guy who’d run by had a samurai sword.

 _Regroup_ , Jack told his knees, trying to work with the train’s vibration as he fast-walked over to his team. _They’re going to need you shooting, there’s no way Crazy Sword Guy can take things with armored skin... eh?_

Sword Guy was currently swirling around back-to-back with Ikoma, indigo against bright scarlet, working their way down the length of the car as the pair of them killed anything that lunged.

His teammates had dropped jaws, and even Teal’c was staring.

 _They’re taking those things hand to hand-?_ Jack had to shake off the shock. _Note to self: Sam’s right, use water filters. The crazy might be contagious_.

“Get in already!” A heavy-gloved hand grabbed his shoulder; a blond in some kind of gray-green jacket over dark blue, local rifle slung awkwardly along one arm. “Do you _want_ to get bitten?”

Open top hatch, massive as something off an old diesel sub. Which now made a blood-curdling amount of sense, because if you had to design trains considering _killer zombies_ might land on top....

Sam and Daniel popped down the rungs, Teal’c taking a second more to angle his staff weapon right to drop through. Jack took that same second to take another look over the roof battlefield, because there was a suspicious absence of shots from the direction Sword Guy had headed-

And his ears were right, all the riflemen nearby were concentrated on killing side-hitchhikers and anything that’d managed to scramble up the locomotive. Because there wasn’t anything _left_ where Ikoma and Sword Guy had passed. Just splashes of blood on steel, and blue and red and Mumei’s pink raising blue sparks farther down the train.

The riflemen weren’t even looking.

It didn’t sit right to jump under cover when people were still fighting. But Blond had the stoic calm of a guy who really wanted to panic and was determined to do it _later_. And his team was already inside, facing who knew how many jumpy locals. Jack gritted his teeth, and climbed down into the shadows....

Shadows streaked with sunlight. Because the entire side of this car was open, with a wide metal ramp swooping along barely a foot above the weedy trackside, giving an absolutely lovely view of what had to be hundreds of gray fangy zombies charging to try and swarm them all. _What the freaking hell_.

Just out of sight, motorcycle engines snarled.

“The riders, Jack. Uryuu,” Daniel gasped out, raising his MP5 with, for once, no hesitation whatsoever. Sam and Teal’c were already in line with the five or six rifles inside, adding their knockback to the killing. “They came out to get us. Now they’ve got to get _back_.”

Oh. Oh, just freaking _fantastic_. Hundreds, hell; that was a whole army pouring out of the city after them. No wonder Grumpy had the death-glare from hell. And no wonder the train had sent a tiny team. They must have been hoping to sneak in and out - only who could sneak around zombies-?

 _“What did you_ do, _wake up the whole city?”_

...Meaning the local zombies _went to sleep_. And the guys who fought them knew it - and probably _did_ know how to sneak through the ravening hordes. So long as, say, a bunch of blithely ignorant off-planet yokels didn’t go traipsing through infested streets laying a trail of _tasty human eats here_.

 _Oh damn. This is our fault_.

Jack traded a glance with a big dark-haired leader guy in burnt-orange body armor - seriously, _orange_ , had the locals just taken “sight cammo doesn’t matter” as a challenge? - and stepped into the second row with Daniel as reserves. “O’Neill. Daniel. What do you need us to do?”

“Kibito,” the young man replied, aiming and firing. “Target large ones or close ones. Ikoma and Kurusu should be looping back, but we still need to open enough of a gap that Uryuu and Eishun-”

A _vroom_ , and white hair and black leather charged through the thinnest part of the gray horde, a brunet with gray scarf riding wingman beside him.

_“Fire!”_

Definitely field-command level, Jack decided, Kibito’s yell still ringing in his ear as the train-guards cut loose, taking down the bodies closest behind the bikes. And his men trusted him - and man, _Uryuu_ had to trust him, because all it’d take was one stray shot and both bikes would be down.

Engines cut, a screech of brakes almost lost in the barrage as one guard let go of his rifle to haul in the ramp. Another yanked _hard_ on a chain counterweight that started sliding the side door closed; Jack heard the rattle of steel down its track, punctuated by the distinctive _thump_ of Ikoma’s weapon coming closer overhead....

A whistling wail, and gray fingers caught the door. _From above_.

 _Oh hell that’s why Ikoma came back_ -

Gray and lava-glow flung itself into the car - and these were riflemen, damn it, _nobody_ had close combat weapons.

 _Except us_.

Jack pulled his Beretta and shot. And kept shooting.

Daniel was in at his shoulder, adding more bullets to knock the nasty off the man it’d savaged. Sam added her own shots, the bastard whirling between all three of them a second before Kibito got way too close and blasted it through the heart.

...And Jack finally had the breath to glance toward where a staff weapon ought to be booming, and see what the hell Teal’c was _doing_.

The Jaffa had gripped the chain the fallen man had dropped, hauling down on it like a blacksmith pumping the bellows of Hell. Screeching, the door started sliding closed again, despite the gray fists _banging dents in steel_ -

Uryuu whipped up his gun, still attached to its bike, and angled shots just outside the sliding door. Monstrous throats screeched, and there were no more dents.

A final yank, and Teal’c held grimly onto the chain as the door slammed.

Kibito snatched at some kind of brassy funnel on the wall, one among a host of snaking tubes and pipes and who knew what. “Everyone’s aboard!”

 _“Accelerating!”_ A young woman’s voice came back; harsher and more clipped than the lady who’d been on their radio. The whistle blew-

Jack had to brace himself against Daniel, as the sudden push threatened to send them both slipping into the spreading pool of blood around the monster. Which seemed like just a bad idea in general, even if these couldn’t _really_ be anything like movie zombies....

And Blond had just caught Sam by the arm, pulling her back, before she could move in to the bitten man with a medkit. “No. It’s too late.”

“Too late for....” Daniel trailed off, videocamera raised even as he shuddered against Jack’s shoulder.

Jack stood stiff, fighting instinct not to shake himself, because the purplish color spreading from the bite on the poor bastard’s throat was _so wrong_. Though not as wrong as the veins lacing through it, that glowed... like the monster on the floor had glowed....

And the rifles had pulled back into a loose semi-circle around the wounded man. Aiming _in_.

The bitten rifleman touched his wound, eyeing the blood on his fingers with a look of a man staring into hell. “Kurusu.”

A _shing_ , and Sword Guy was just _there_ , blade held low and ready as the infection spread up to jaw and cheek. “I am here, Tozuka.”

Tozuka glanced at the sword, shoulders straightening. Took a white sort-of pouch from his belt, and planted it just to the left of his breastbone, over the heart. “Tell Lady Ayame... she will make Aragane live again.”

Kurusu nodded, short and stark. “I will.”

Gritting his teeth as veins colored half his face, Tozuka gripped a string dangling from the pouch, and _yanked_ -

 _Boom_.

Tozuka’s body fell, glow fading.

 _Shaped charge_. Jack had to blink, breathing almost as hard as the rest of his team. _That was a shaped charge_.

“May karma smile upon him.” Uryuu stepped over to the body, studying the wound. “Good. He didn’t miss.”

And one of the people who’d come to _rescue them_ was making snarky comments on how a zombie-bitten guy had committed suicide. Jack had to take another breath, because adrenaline could make a guy really, really stupid, and he wanted to know _exactly_ what he was saying before he asked what the hell was going on-

Uryuu stood up straight, as if the body just didn’t matter anymore. “So who the hell are you guys, and how did you get that far into Keishi without getting dead?”

Assuming Keishi was the city full of infectious monsters behind them, that was actually a damn good question. Somehow Jack didn’t think “peaceful travelers through the Stargate” was going to cut it here....

Stargate. In the city. Which they were currently moving away from at a _train’s top speed_. Oh hell. “Danny, translate!”

He clicked on his radio, and hoped they weren’t already out of range. “General. No time, just listen. _Do not send rescue_.”

“Colonel?”

“Good news, we found friendlies,” Jack powered on. The locals had stiffened as Daniel translated, and he hoped they’d wait just a little longer. “Bad news, we have in fact stumbled into the middle of a zpoc, it’s bite-spread at _least_ , and the friendlies are holding us at rifle-point ‘til they’re sure we haven’t been infected. _And I do not blame them_.”

Yep, that was a bitten-off swear on the other end. “We’ll get Dr. Fraiser on the line-”

“No time, we’re on the train, currently beating feet out of zombie-town at... I’m guessing well over 40,” Jack said quickly. “We’ll try to circle back as soon as we can. Regular contact protocol. And _no backup_. This stuff spreads quick enough to give Romero nightmares.”

“Understood.” The transmission was already starting to get crackly with distance. “Good luck, SG-1. And Godspeed.”

Jack clicked his radio off, scanning the gazes on them. Of all the leader-type guys in this bunch, Uryuu was quick and cranky and probably going to be the most hot-tempered to keep away from their throats. Kibito was steady as a good sergeant should be; the big guy would be cool, calm, and collected even as he was pitching SG-1 off the train at speed, if it came to that. But Kurusu....

Kurusu’s gaze burned with _another of mine lost_. And that sword hadn’t been sheathed. There was something odd about it, under the drops of blood-

“You have a portable radio.” Blue eyes narrowed. “Who _are_ you?”

Jack blinked, focusing back on the guy holding said sword. Zombies didn’t faze the guy but a man-portable radio did-?

He breathed in, suddenly conscious of more than the scent of cordite and blood. There was smoke hanging in the air, familiar from old classes and a few historical events he’d hit with Daniel in tow. Black powder smoke.

_How did they blast a hole through armored zombies with just black powder?_

“Jack O’Neill,” Jack said plainly. Nodded toward the rest of his team. “Sam Carter, Daniel Jackson, and the big guy who got the door closed is Teal’c.” Wouldn’t hurt to remind a very _angry_ guy who’d just lost one of his men that one of the people he’d rescued had kept his head enough to slam the door on the zombies. “We’re travelers, looking for help and people who need ours, and right now I’d say we are _very_ lost.” He glanced at the two bodies on the floor. One monster. And one man who’d died rather than become one. “What were those things?”

* * *

 

 _Omake_.

General Hammond’s voice came over the SGC intercom, clear and somehow even more frazzled than usual. “Ladies and gentlemen. SG-1 is offworld for an unspecified length of time. Hopefully until they can determine both methods of exposure and the length of an incubation period. There’s no easy way to say this....” He cleared his throat. “Apparently, SG-1 has found their first zpoc.”

A deliberate pause. One might almost imagine that the general was waiting for bets to finish exchanging hands.

“It may have come to my attention, purely unofficially, that certain individuals might have expressed monetary interest in the latest unusual event to find our offworld teams. After due consideration I have decided that, given the nature of the SGC’s mission, it is in the Air Force’s best interest to encourage our people to strategize for even the most impossible scenario. With that in mind... the current accepted subcategories of zombie apocalypse are necromantic, revenant, chemical, radioactive, and viral.” Another, briefer pause. “No, _mad scientist_ is not and will not be considered a viable category. We’ve seen too many.”

A rustling over the intercom. As if a few more bills were reluctantly changing hands.

“At this point in time SG-1 has confirmed zpoc, but did not have enough time to give us details that would allow anyone to narrow it down to subtype. With luck, they’ll have the relevant information at their next contact. In the meantime... brush up on your anti-zombie tactics, and prepare to get creative. According to the colonel, headshots _do not work_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The MP5 is the submachine gun SG teams carry as heavy arms prior to season 4. It uses 9x19 mm Parabellum rounds, which are specified to be able to penetrate an 8 mm steel plate at ten meters. 
> 
> ...Unfortunately for SG-1, it’s Kabaneri canon that to shoot through the iron cage, you need to be able to penetrate more like two inches of steel even at _point-blank range._ (Seriously. Check episode one of Kabaneri for what Ikoma’s trying to pierce. Yikes.)
> 
> Yes, the gunpowder guns Hunters use can kill Kabane. Sahari shot a _Kabaneri’s_ arm off. As in, blew the limb completely off. Nothing SG-1 carries can do _anything_ like that. Not even a staff weapon - we’ve seen the wounds they leave in Stargate canon, and while it’s a lethal blast to a human when taken in the torso, it’s still not nearly that powerful. Sure, it puts holes in soft fleshy things, and hard but immobile and relatively brittle things like stone. But can a staff blast put a hole in an inch of iron? More importantly, can it do it with enough punch to actually go through the iron when said iron has the option of going flying? Seriously; the fact that knockback happens is itself an obstacle for something that’s not a very focused weapon. And Kabaneri canon, knockback _does happen_... and it shouldn’t. Not with bullets. No matter what caliber.
> 
> IMHO faced with _oncoming rabid horde_ Jack would have immediately gone for lethal weaponry rather than zats - which was actually wise on his part. Y’see, there are some SG canon bits on zats which, combined with what we know about less-obvious Kabane abilities, would be Bad. 
> 
> For this AU, Norse Tyr is Asgard, yes. But I’m saying the Goa’uld stole the Germanic god names, so Tiw was a System Lord. 
> 
> And yes, I’m giving the Kabaneri characters more normal hair colors, because the Stargate ‘verse is like that. Using the photos from an article on the live-action version of Kabaneri that I found on Crunchyroll for inspiration.
> 
> http://www.crunchyroll.com/anime-news/2016/12/17-1/kabaneri-escape-game-actors-look-killer-in-costume


	3. Belated and Very Necessary Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who _are_ these guys?

“What.”

Not the most eloquent reply, Kurusu would be the first to admit. But he would defy even Elder Dogen Makino to be courtly and gracious in the face of such insanity. For this Jack O’Neill to even ask-!

_Who in the world would not recognize a Kabane?_

For that matter, who in the world used that much metal to fasten clothing and gear? Dark green clothing, black vests and gear harness, duller green packs; all fastened with snaps and zippers, not the ties and belts of townsmen and steamsmiths, or buttons of noble outfits.

 _Wherever they come from, it has sufficient metal. And gunpowder. And... an army_.

That last was a guess, based on Daniel Jackson’s apparent translation of _general, colonel_ , and _contact protocol_ from whatever language O’Neill had used on that impossible mini-radio. A translation that might not be accurate. After all-

“He called the Koutetsujou a _train!_ ” Sukari fumed under his breath.

Yes. That. No one used unarmored trains outside a station. Not since the Kabane. It’d be suicide.

 _Kami save us from infuriated steamsmiths_.

Though from Kibito’s rueful glance, they both knew why Sukari was really fuming. It was so much safer to be angry at strangers over an insult, than the fact that their rescue meant yet another of the Koutetsujou lay dead on the sortie car floor-

 _No_ , Kurusu told himself firmly. _We don’t know that. If we had not passed under that spur, then it would have been one of the loops. The Kabane know how to use elevated positions for ambush. They could have taken us no matter which track we chose_.

Cold comfort. But enough to steady him to examine the four strangers once more.

 _O’Neill is the leader; old enough to be an Elder with that gray hair, but as fighting-fit as Lord Yomogawa was. Carter seems an ordinary bushi, but her hair is cut close as a steamsmith’s. And Jackson... is odd. He knows weapons and languages; a scholar bushi? We never had many in Aragane_.

They seemed more like bushi than nobles, at the least, two names or not. You would never find a trio of Hi-no-Moto nobles with only one retainer. And Teal’c - what kind of a name was that, if he hadn’t been trying to decipher Suzuki for weeks he couldn’t have even guessed how to pronounce it - didn’t act like a retainer.

_He moved to the door when we needed it. Quick in a crisis, and very, very strong. That gold... it’s no ornament. Someone embedded it in his skin. Who does that?_

Granted, Kurusu knew Ikoma. But the steamsmith had been desperately trying to stop an infection. A few bolts were a small price to pay for survival.

 _Jakku Ooniiru_ , Kurusu tried to sound the foreign names out in his head again. _Danieru Jakkuson. San Kaataa. Chiaruku_.

Damn. No matter what he tried in his mind, that last simply did not sound the way O’Neill had said it.

_Where could they come from, and not know the Kabane? It’s impossible!_

From the dubious looks on his fellow bushi’s faces, they didn’t believe it either. “Maybe they got hit on the head on the way down?” Uryuu suggested, as Eishun eyed the dead Kabane, grabbed hold of an arm and shoulder, and dragged it out the door nearest the locomotive for Ikoma to deal with. “Top of the Koutetsujou’s no featherbed.”

No, it wasn’t-

“Eh, we’ll find that in inspection.” The Hunter’s shrug was casual, but hazel eyes were dead serious. “And before we bother....” He nodded toward Tozuka’s body. “You better hurry it up with the prayers.”

It was a testament to his bushi’s regard for Lady Ayame, Kurusu thought, that they only bristled. That, and the fact that harsh as his words were, the Hunter wasn’t wrong. “You know he won’t walk.”

“I know that,” Uryuu bit out; patient, for him. “You know that. Those jumpy Kongokaku bastards will _panic_.”

Sometimes he hated it when Uryuu was right. But he hated more that field prayers were so short. Because that was life with the Kabane... and half a hayajiro stuffed with panicky fools.

“See if the backpack engine can be salvaged,” Kurusu instructed once their moments of silent grief were over. More to give himself a moment to breathe than because his men needed the order. Until and unless they could reach a living station, they had only what they could save and salvage, and they all knew it.

“Um.” Jackson, stepping a little forward, when all of that four had been silent through the prayers. “Kongokaku?”

“The last station we were in that fell to the Kabane,” Kurusu stated. “We have the survivors aboard. They have not taken it well.” He glanced at Uryuu. “We will get them off at Shitori Station.”

“Let’s hope so.” Scowling, Uryuu looked away.

Kurusu restrained a knowing nod; the Hunter wouldn’t appreciate it. “Still not decided?”

Uryuu grimaced. “It’s a lot to decide.”

“It is.” Lady Ayame’s offer was honest, and in good faith. But the last lord the Hunters had trusted had used them to destroy whole stations, and told them it was to save their people. Kurusu knew Lady Ayame did not lie. Uryuu - was not so quick to believe. And should not be.

 _It is much to decide. For all of us_.

Kurusu straightened as Kibito eased the side door open to dispose of Tozuka’s body. “We will light a fire for him the next time we stop; for Tozuka, and all the lost souls of Keishi.”

 _Courtesy. You are Lady Ayame’s blade; remember courtesy_.

Kurusu gave O’Neill a shallow bow. “You are welcome to make your own prayers at the fire for your losses.”

And he was Lady Ayame’s bodyguard. Now to see what these strangers would _do_ with courtesy.

* * *

 

“Thanks,” Jack said, careful as he would be picking up an unexpended claymore. “We appreciate the consideration.” See? He _could so_ do polite.

 _Danny, if you lose that straight face, so help me_....

Because no, he was no linguist, and no, he was no great shakes at picking out weird cultural nuances either. But _tribute to the honorable dead_ was one of those things that translated pretty well, no matter how far across the galaxy you went.

Granted, on some planets that could include ritually burning everything the dead guy had touched, eating somebody’s heart, or pouring good beer all over the grave. But still. _We fought, some of us died, honor them_ , seemed to hold pretty much with every group that still counted as human, and no few that weren’t.

Didn’t stop his gut from lurching when Tozuka’s body went out the door. Seeing their faces, stoic but wincing, the locals obviously _hated_ this....

Well. It didn’t exactly help. But nigh-unkillable infectious super-zombies. Yeah, Jack got why the body had to go.

So he waited, and motioned the rest of the team to just chill, until the door was closed again and Kurusu’s guys had their faces more-or-less back to stoic. Ow.

“Okay,” Jack said; keeping his voice level and calm. People who dealt with zombies probably appreciated calm, as opposed to panicked screaming. “What do you need to do this inspection? ‘Cause I can tell you right now I think my team would have noticed if they got bit.”

...And there went Kurusu’s flat stare again. Uryuu had done a freaking double-take, and Kibito was actually _blinking_ at them.

_What’d I say?_

“It seems true that you have never before fought Kabane.” Kurusu studied them all over again, slow and deliberate. “The bites go numb. It is not uncommon for a bushi in battle to not realize they have been bitten, until a fellow warrior spots the blood.”

Jack flashed back to Tozuka, looking at the blood on his own fingers like hell’s own surprise party, when the guy knew _damn well_ he’d been bitten. “Oh.” Oh, and hell. “So... everybody has to get checked for bites.”

“And for anything else,” Uryuu said - with deliberate nasty relish, Jack could just _hear_ it. “Wouldn’t want to pick up a _slow_ infection.”

Daniel swallowed. But moved in to take the bait, so Jack wouldn’t have to; Uryuu wasn’t the guy in charge here and they all knew it. “Slow infection?”

“It happens,” Kibito sighed, those big shoulders slumping in a way that made it clear he’d seen it. “Someone gets a cut near the hordes, flying blood... I wish anyone knew what did it. But sometimes it gets you and it doesn’t show. Until the heart lights up. Once that happens... they’ve got minutes left. And all you can do is stab the heart and pray to the kami they didn’t bite too many others to put down.”

 _Oh_.

Now Sam swallowed. Danny was pale, heading toward paper-white. And Teal’c looked deeply unsettled.

Reviewing the mad scramble they’d made to get out of Keishi, including but not limited to scraping their way over a train roof after they’d hit it from a _flying leap_ , Jack did not blame them one little bit.

 _I am colonel, I am the guy who cannot panic_. Jack took a breath, and held up one empty hand. “Excuse me just one moment?”

Kurusu’s brows arched. But he didn’t say no.

“Thanks.” Jack took another breath, and swore like the Black Ops colonel he was. _Not_ in the local language, he was pretty sure sheer _ticked off_ would translate anyway.

Apparently it did, because Kurusu looked slightly less disgruntled, the other bushi - whatever that was - looked honestly relieved SG-1 was taking it seriously, and Kibito folded his arms like this was the best entertainment he’d heard all day.

“-They’re zombies,” Jack finished. “They’re unkillable zombies. They’re unkillable _infectious_ zombies. They’re unkillable infectious zombies that can infect you even if they don’t actually _get_ you. _Aauuuughhh_.”

“They are not, in fact, unkillable,” Teal’c noted.

“Yeah,” Jack sighed. “Good. That’s something.” He scrubbed knuckles against his headache; seriously, _zpoc_ , what was up with the universe? Blew out a determined breath, and looked over his team. “Okay, people. I’m not even going to ask if everybody’s okay. _Nobody_ could be okay with this. But can we keep it together? These people just saved our butts, they deserve to know if any of us needs to crack for a few minutes.”

“I think so, sir.” Sam did not look happy. But she didn’t look panicked, either. Score one for SG-1 hitting life-threatening weirdness on a weekly basis. “I just hope none of us are... well.”

“No kidding,” Jack said wryly. “Daniel?”

Daniel glanced at Kurusu’s people, and braced himself. “They’re here. They’re alive. And all they’ve got is technology a century or so behind us. If they can do it, we can.”

Teal’c inclined his head. “I am most curious as to the nature of their ammunition. It can penetrate what a staff blast cannot.”

Yeah. And that was very, very interesting. “We’ll ask ‘em about it. After this inspection.” A nod to his team, and Jack looked back at Kurusu, switching back to the local language. “Okay. We’re... well. This is shaping up to be one of our more _spectacularly_ bad days.” He shrugged. “But my team says we can take it. We just might appreciate a quiet corner to go shake in for a little bit, once it sinks in how close those teeth got. After you do whatever you have to, to clear us.”

Teeth. Ikoma and his crazy armguard. And the guy presumably _knew_ what just one slip with those teeth would do.

 _Is he nuts?_ _Note to self, make sure that guy gets checked._ “So... I’m guessing we need to strip down?” He glanced at his team. “Er. Could be a little awkward.”

Kibito seemed to relax a little, and cast a smile Sam’s way. “Well, we’re not a station. Don’t worry, we’ll call for a woman. And a screen.”

 _I was thinking about Teal’c, but yeah, that’s good too_. “Thanks,” Jack nodded.

Kurusu took out a rag, and calmly started wiping down his blade. “Take a moment to calm yourselves. If no signs have shown by now, we should have some time.”

 _Knows it’s infectious and he’s wiping that down bare-handed... eh?_ Jack kept his face straight, nudging Daniel when it looked like the archaeologist might eye Kurusu’s eerie sword a little _too_ obviously. The sharp edge still looked like steel, but the blade itself seemed coated with something black laced with... shimmering orange veins. An all too familiar shimmer.

Daniel glanced at him, brows up behind his glasses, head tilted that direction.

Jack nodded. _Yeah._ _Whatever those Kabane have, these people figured out some way to work with it_.

Which meant their ammo might be _interesting_ , yeah. In an old Chinese curse kind of way. He’d have to remind Sam to poke it carefully. From the way the major was frowning at their hosts’ guns, she was trying to figure out how to take them apart already.

Kibito stepped back to the wall, singling out another brass tube. “Everyone who fought the Kabane, come to the sortie car for inspection!”

“Speaking tubes?” Daniel muttered under his breath. “That’s so....” A slight thump, as if they’d hit an irregularity in the track, and Daniel glanced up to the ceiling. And kept looking. “Jack.”

And that was a _Jack, that looks interesting_ , not a _Jack, need gun now_. Curious, Jack looked up too.

A cylinder of glass; half shielded by steel, half protected behind a wire grate, glowing a familiar yellow-white. Very, very familiar, down to the shape of the hot filament inside.

 _Electric lights. Ooookay_.

Sam followed their gaze up, and stopped. Did a double-take. Looked back at the speaking tubes, and the weird backpack cylinder things everyone seemed to have attached to their guns, as if technology itself had betrayed her.

“Carter?” Jack prompted. Better to avoid titles for now, he’d seen Kurusu twitch when Danny translated _general_. No point in making the guy dealing with a zpoc even twitchier by hinting there might be a foreign army on his doorstep. Even if said doorstep was actually a zillion miles away.

Sam deliberately inhaled, looking even more perplexed. “Sir. They have electric lights. And radio.”

“Noticed that,” Jack agreed.

“But I don’t smell anything burned, besides gunpowder. And... I think kerosene, from the bikes.” Sam took another breath, and shook her head. “Sir, what’s powering this train?”

 _Who cares, as long as the fuel lasts long enough to get us clear of the monsters_ -

Was what Jack _almost_ said. Except.

_Ma’chello’s notes say he was here. That he was working on an alternate power source to naquadah._

_And the Kabane glow_.

* * *

 

“Too many bones, why do they _do_ this, iron cage isn’t enough they have to keep warping everything-!”

A _crack_ , and the shears he’d reinforced with Kabane steel severed the last rib in Ikoma’s way. He blinked, sweat stinging his eyes, and firmly sat on any impulse to wipe his face. _Finally_.

 _Stop. Take your time. You’re up on the roof, no one from Kongokaku’s going to look up here. Take. The time. To do it right_.

He took a breath, lifting his head to let the breeze from the Koutetsujou’s passage clear away drops of sweat. Waited until he could see clearly again, then reached in to carefully tear the glowing iron-net away from dead flesh.

 _I hate this. This used to be someone. And they died, alone and afraid_....

But one more iron-cage meant another sword the Koutetsujou could coat, or a pair of bayonets. Weapons that would save lives.

Ikoma rinsed the net first, then wedged it against his toolkit on the roof to dry while he cleaned hands, arms, shears, and knife. Shook off a few faintly-pink drops, and eyed the body again.

_I should examine it. How often do I get a chance to handle one that’s mostly intact?_

_...But I’m tired_.

He didn’t know who they’d lost yet. It couldn’t be Kurusu or Kibito, or he’d have heard more than a suicide charge and then the faint normal messages of the hayajiro. Outside of that it didn’t matter. He knew all the bushi by now. And the Hunters. Losing any of them _hurt_.

 _A real examination would take an hour or more. And that sky_.... Ikoma glanced up again. _Cloudy. I don’t think it’ll rain, not yet, but it’d make things tricky if it did._

 _And I’d be taking apart a Kabane. I can’t risk getting seen at that. One of the Kongokaku might be that stupid_.

He pitched the body over the side, and clenched his fists. _I’m so tired of losing people to_ stupidity!

A knuckle at a time, Ikoma made his hands open. Bruising his fists would be a stupid thing to do, in the wake of a Kabane attack. And the roof didn’t need any more dents.

 _I’m so tired_.

Storing the cage in the bag he’d set aside for it, Ikoma blinked, and swore under his breath. Glanced down, and tugged at the gi Kurusu had insisted he wear into this battle. Good, no tears.

Light gray. Too close to a bushi’s white shirt for comfort. But a black steamsmith’s undershirt wouldn’t block the light.

_I need some rest. Or... some food._

_I hate this_.

“Ikoma!”

Suzuki, waving from the locomotive. Ikoma breathed a sigh of relief, and waved back. Peered over the edge of the sortie car roof to make sure no one was poking their heads outside the cars yet.

Backed up a step, and jumped.

Suzuki didn’t so much as step back as he touched down. It made him feel a little warmer. “Is something wrong?”

Between the curls and the steamsmith lenses no one could make out too much of Suzuki’s face, but the set of his shoulders was enough. “It was Tozuka.”

 _But I was just talking to him before we left_.... Toolkit heavy against his side, Ikoma sat down on a clean spot of steel.

“Thought you’d want to know.” Suzuki sat down too. “You can’t be everywhere.”

“I saw it jump from the side,” Ikoma said numbly. “The angle - I knew it had to be going after the door-chain....”

“Ikoma.” Suzuki gripped his shoulder. “Not enough of us on the hayajiro. Townsfolk are trying, but - not enough bushi. Not enough steamsmiths. All of us trying to do two, three jobs. Sometimes we’re not enough. Sometimes... it’s just bad luck.”

Lump in his throat, Ikoma nodded. His head knew the odds. Now if he could just convince his heart-

 _Bad thought. Don’t go there_.

Suzuki was looking him over careful as a stuck gear. “Hozumi?”

Ikoma jerked his head down the line of cars. “She’s back on the last car, listening. In case there’s a Nue.”

Suzuki nodded, thoughtful. “You know what a Fused Colony feels like, too.”

“Not from the inside,” Ikoma admitted. “It might give her an edge.” He made himself shrug. “Besides. She knew I’d want to get cages if I could. And she doesn’t like... operations.”

“Don’t think you like them either,” Suzuki mused. Looked down the hayajiro’s length. “Lot of fighting. Did she take lunch?”

Oh, Suzuki was going to give him one of those _looks_ , the kind just a few people on this hayajiro knew him well enough to give: _you’re not taking care of yourself and you know better_. “...I gave her mine.” Of course he was carrying a spare for emergencies, but... that didn’t really make it better. Hozumi had lived as a Kabaneri for two years. She _ought_ to be responsible.

 _But she’s still a kid, sometimes. Biba taught her how to fight. Not how to grow up_.

Well, if she reminded him that much of his little sister, he’d have to be the responsible big brother and get her to _think_. She was the Koutetsujou’s bodyguard; she had to act like it.

_Maybe Lady Ayame could help?_

He definitely needed somebody’s help. Because there was the Look, clear even behind lenses and leather.

“Thought so.” Fishing in his sleeve, Suzuki handed over a red-banded tube.

Gingerly, Ikoma took it. “It’s... cold?”

“Lasts longer this way,” Suzuki said practically. “But we don’t know if having it cold’s good for you two. Want to try it?”

Cold water had been fine. A _tritu_ , as Suzuki put it. A cold meal... probably couldn’t be too bad. And Suzuki knew what to do if it wasn’t. Which was mostly, _get help. Armed help. Fast_.

Cool and thick. Different. But it soothed the dry thirst the way it should, gray exhaustion lifting.

Ikoma finished the tube off, and waited. Soup had seemed okay too. At first.

Two minutes, and nothing was threatening to come up. “I think this is okay,” Ikoma ventured. “Thanks.”

Suzuki nodded soberly. “Should put honey in it next time.”

“What? No! That would- Ugh-! I want my honey in water. Or tea, like a _sane_ person....” Ikoma trailed off, eyes narrowed at the twitch of Suzuki’s lips. “You. You have an _awful_ sense of humor.”

Suzuki’s shoulder bumped his, a friendly nudge. “Been told it doesn’t translate.”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with words.” Ikoma stared down at the tube, seeing beyond to what it meant. Someone from the crew, someone from Aragane; there was one more person on this hayajiro with a bandage, when any day they might have to fight the Kabane again.

_Are there any more near?_

He didn’t think so, as he looked out over the summer-gold hills retreating from Keishi. But he still didn’t know how far he could sense them. And how many there had to be for the signal to be clear. One Kabane was a lot harder to find than a horde.

 _And if people are wounded - one can be all it takes_. “I wish we’d saved some of the Hunters’ lab. What they did was horrible, but they had safer ways to draw blood.”

“ _Toransufuyuushon_ needles,” Suzuki nodded. “Tricky. Have to be hard, sharp, and hollow. Not sure we could forge them on the Koutetsujou. Maybe someone in a station makes them.”

Ikoma shook his head, tearing his gaze from the empty tube to focus on Suzuki’s face. “ _Toran_ \- what?”

“Needles for _toransufuyuushon_.” The Albion steamsmith repeated the word a few times, slowly, not smirking as Ikoma tried to wrap his tongue around that impossible collection of sounds.

...Well. Not much.

“Needle from a big vein, take blood in a tube, put it in another. Used when someone’s hurt bad in war, or an accident,” Suzuki went on. “Someone healthy can lose a little blood, if it’s not too often. Hurt person gets blood, maybe they have a chance.”

“But there are viruses in blood,” Ikoma objected, one hand almost going to his arm, where the scar of an old wound... wasn’t, anymore. “Other infections, too.”

“Chance doctors have to take,” Suzuki shrugged. “Lose too much blood, go into shock? No chance at all.”

No, there wasn’t. Ikoma’d seen enough accidents in the railyards to know that for sure. “It can’t be that simple.”

“Isn’t,” Suzuki agreed. “Blood has types. Mix them - very bad for the patient.” He tilted his head, as if looking into distant memory. “Back when I first came to Hi-no-Moto, girl tried to ask me what mine was to tell my future.”

Ikoma gave him a sidelong glance. “...Seriously?”

“Wouldn’t lie about girls.”

No, Suzuki probably wouldn’t. Huh. Ikoma frowned, storing the empty tube away. “I read something about that in my anatomy books. And - oh. _That’s_ what they must have been talking about. I always wondered.”

“They?”

“Some of the writings on Kabane,” Ikoma filled in. “There was one account where someone was trying to see if blood type affected how fast the infection spread.”

Suzuki whistled. “What’d they find?”

“Who knows?” Ikoma grimaced; fill in one blank space in what they knew, and the Kabane hit them with a dozen more. “It was a secondhand account from someone who got away when the idiot turned.”

“Damn.” Suzuki shook his head. Dusted his hands off, and got up, pointing toward a small water-cask he’d hauled up out of the hatch. “Was going to clean off the locomotive.” Peered up at the clouds. “Just gears, other tight spots. Might rain soon.”

“That sounds good.” Well. Not good, exactly. But dealing with bits and spatter was part of a steamsmith’s job. Much easier than going inside to watch people’s nerves get wound tight during inspection.

And if they ever had to jump onto the Koutetsujou’s roof again, he’d rather it was a clean landing.

They started with the railings. As Kibito had told him, it was just _so_ much better for morale if the rifles had a clean place to clip onto.

Suzuki used water judiciously, always checking to see if the blood had dried before he started scrubbing. _Dried_ Kabane blood wasn’t a problem. Thankfully. The amount of nicks and scratches any steamsmith picked up working, they’d all be dead if it was. “Collar good?”

Ikoma touched the ribbed steel and leather at his throat; a familiar weight by now, they’d made a good match for his old one. “Better than the ribbon. I looked ridiculous in that.”

Suzuki gave him a sidelong glance. “Think Kajika liked it. Went with your hair.”

Scrubbing away, Ikoma groaned. “Now I _know_ you’re kidding.”

Seriously, if Kajika had been interested in anyone’s hair, it would have been Takumi’s. Which was fine. Ikoma had always known he was the loose end in their threesome, too obsessed with defeating the Kabane in the future to be present here and now.

Jet bullets were a reality, and Takumi was gone. And neither of them knew what to _do_.

 _Keep breathing. Keep fighting. We’re going to take the world back. If we have to do it one Kabane at a time_.

Suzuki used tweezers to pry a particularly stubborn bit of purplish flesh out of the edge around the hatch, then sluiced the spot down. Looked the whole hatch over one more time, then headed for the cannon. “Hope we flung most of them up. Sukari will be grumpy if he has to pull bits out of the accelerator again while we’re moving. Day’s bad enough for him already.”

Following, Ikoma frowned. “Why?”

“Drew the short straw on scrubbing the sortie car.”

Ikoma couldn’t help it. He tried, he really did, but a snort of laughter snuck out. “No wonder you’re up here!”

“Nice breeze,” Suzuki agreed cheerfully, motioning Ikoma to move and hold bits of wire and tubing so they could check the improvised hookups and gears. Hopefully they wouldn’t need the cannon. But if they did - there wouldn’t be time for checks. “And no Kongokaku.”

And that fast, the day wasn’t funny again. “Are they still-?”

“Not sure _what_ they think. Trying to stay away from them.” Suzuki’s shoulders tensed. “Heard enough. Nidai, Keisuke heard more. Warned me, stay out of sight. Kongokaku doesn’t see _steamsmith_. Just _outlander_.”

“Stupid,” Ikoma bit out, like the curse it was. “You’re one of us.”

Suzuki smiled, putting down a rag long enough to ruffle green hair. “Koutetsujou’s a lucky hayajiro. Always takes in those with nowhere to go. But means we have to keep moving. More than most.”

That made Ikoma blink. A hayajiro was a hayajiro, the one way to bring freight and lives from station to station; he’d never thought of them further than that. But... they were like ships on the sea, weren’t they? Kajika had brought home a few tales of the great travelers, trying to learn of the world outside station walls. Ships had their own history. It made sense that hayajiro would, too. “Wait. You mean-?”

“Wasn’t surprised Shitori didn’t want us to stay,” Suzuki said frankly. “We’re lucky. But _strange_. Stations don’t like it.”

Strange. Hmph. Suzuki was _different_ , not strange. Just because he had a weird dent in his chin, and - from what you could see past the lenses - cheekbones angled a little differently than anyone else Ikoma’d ever seen....

Ikoma stopped scrubbing. Blinked. Stared at Suzuki’s face again.

Curls tilted. “Something wrong?”

Ikoma huffed, not sure how to say it. “You said, whatever they were speaking on the radio, it wasn’t Albiongo.”

Suzuki frowned. “No. Sounded _weird_. Why?”

“A few of the people we rescued... they looked something like you. They weren’t wearing lenses - well, one had glasses, but not _lenses_ \- I couldn’t be sure,” Ikoma said quickly. “But the way their faces are shaped... I just thought you should know.”

Suzuki was silent a long moment. “Weren’t speaking Albiongo. But... heard stories that some islands got colonized, centuries back. Who knows?” He shrugged, looking away. “Lot to do. Gear checks. Maintenance. New car’s light, not enough armor; better check for damage before another fight.”

Ikoma might not be the best at people, but he thought he got why Suzuki was hesitating. The same reason he would, if he thought he might meet someone from... before Aragane. “Kurusu’s going to talk to them. And Lady Ayame will want to know what on earth they thought they were _doing_ in Keishi. We’ll get some answers.”

Maybe that was the right thing to say. Suzuki looked a little less worried, anyway.

 _We’re worried about meeting strangers, when Tozuka’s dead_.

Ikoma grimaced, trying to shut the grief away. They all knew the risks, living outside a station. If they couldn’t handle it they might as well tell Lady Ayame to give up and leave Aragane forever lost. Throw themselves on the next station’s nonexistent mercy, no better than Dogen’s scared remnant.

 _No. We’re going to take our world back. I swore it_. “I wonder where he was bitten.”

“Stop thinking about it,” Suzuki advised. “Bitten’s bitten.”

“No,” Ikoma said quietly, barely loud enough to hear over the hayajiro’s wind. “No, it’s not.”

Suzuki straightened, curls shifting as if his eyes were wide behind leather and glass.

Ikoma swallowed. “If it was the throat - usually it is, why do they always bite there - if it was, then I don’t think anyone could help. The virus moves too fast. But if it was an arm, or a foot....” He breathed out. It’d been terrifying enough using his hanging rig when he’d thought it was a cure for the Kabane. And now they knew it _wasn’t_.

 _Not a cure. But it might give someone a chance_. “I’m going to need your help. There’s something I have to build.”

Suzuki gave him a long look. Glanced down the line of the Koutetsujou, where Hozumi was a frail shape of leather and brass atop the end car. “If Ikoma’s right - better talk to Lady Ayame. Noble. Yomogawa needs to decide this.”

 _Aragane gave shelter to two Kabaneri. But when I built my rig, I could build it so any Kabane_ couldn’t _get loose. Now we’re on a hayajiro. There’s no room to spare. She needs to decide if... if we can risk trying to help someone survive the bite_. “You’re right,” Ikoma admitted. “I’ll talk to Kurusu. He can find the right time.”

“Any time Dogen’s not there,” Suzuki said dryly. “Elder’s terrified of you two.”

Ikoma’s shoulders fell. “Well, he should be-”

A half-gloved fist knocked on the top of his head, light and painful as a falling acorn. Ikoma winced, and pulled back. “What was _that_ for?”

“Heard about Ayame from Takumi,” Suzuki snorted. “Starved two days. Shredded by Kabane. Lost blood. Took a damn knife in the hand proving townsfolk with pitchforks shouldn’t burn you alive. Lost more blood. You were hurt. You were _hungry_.” He paused. “Hozumi should have warned you. Her fault. Not yours.”

Ikoma gaped at him. “But I-”

“ _You_ always carry spare food.” Suzuki _hmph_ ed, as if that should be the end of it. “Dogen’s scared of you? Should be scared of _Kurusu_. Dogen’s noble. Thinks bushi won’t attack nobles. Doesn’t see, Kurusu doesn’t care anymore.”

Well. Suzuki wasn’t wrong. “Let’s hope nobody attacks anybody,” Ikoma said wryly. “Right now, we’d better find out just how lucky Sukari is today. Want to anchor my cable while I check under the locomotive?”

* * *

 

“Good news is, they look like they know what they’re doing,” Jack said quietly, as Kibito and the rest sorted themselves out, Eishun and Uryuu apparently finally satisfied the bikes weren’t going to go sliding through the bloodstained space of the car with a sudden lurch.

“And the bad news is?” Daniel quipped.

Jack gave him a wry look. “They look like they know what they’re doing.”

“...Ah.”

 _Know what they’re doing in the middle of a... Kabane apocalypse. Whatever Kabane are_. Jack grimaced. _Don’t knock it, they’ve got their priorities straight and you know it, O’Neill. Janet would give them two gloved thumbs up. Check for infection_ first. _Answers a definite second, once you’re sure people aren’t going to drop down dead._

He didn’t want to think too hard about the _not_ dropping down dead. All his Napoleon jokes aside, Janet’s inspections usually didn’t include armed guards to shoot down potential escapees. Way this day had been going, the Koutetsujou’s probably would.

Jack rolled his shoulders, carefully nonchalant. If SG-1 was going to be stripping down at mostly-friendly gunpoint, they’d need someplace to store their gear. _Where_ was a good question. Kibito had called this the sortie car, which implied this was supposed to be where armed men and cavalry like the bikes left or entered the Koutetsujou at speed. And all around the door and most of the middle was good, clear open space. But it looked like it’d been made that way at least partly by shoving everything else in the car against the far wall and jam-packing the corners.

 _Buckets. Some kind of gun-cleaning kits, I think. Wooden posts with more sticks out of them, about human-tall - pells. And I’d swear that’s some kind of training mat rolled up and jammed on top of a pair of ‘em_. Jack paused, taken aback. _Don’t tell me. They’re taking these things on hand to hand?_

Then again, for Ikoma and Kurusu, it obviously worked. Eeeeeep.

Yeah. These guys were working with limited space, and he had no idea where they meant to put SG-1’s sidearms for safekeeping....

One brow raised, Jack paused, thinking back over how careful these guys were, how the voice on the radio had said _salvage and rescue_ , like the Koutetsujou had pulled off crazy like this before - and given they said they had Kongokaku survivors, they _had_ \- and exactly what hadn’t been said the past few hectic minutes.

 _Nobody’s asked for the guns_.

“Um.” Daniel kept his voice down; probably not as low as he wanted, though, given they had to hear past the rattle of the train. His hand twitched, very carefully _not_ near his sidearm. “Do you think they’re going to-?”

Jack glanced at Kurusu and company again. Nope, no one even looked like they were going to make a shifty move. And no one was bracing themselves for facing down strangers and politely asking them to turn over the hardware, either. “Think if they were, they’d have asked already.”

Sam cleared her throat. “That seems... a little less than cautious, sir.”

Jack gave her a wry look. “Carter, I’m guessing they think we’re smart enough not to get tossed right back out that door.”

“They are most courteous warriors,” Teal’c observed. “I am curious to learn of their fight against this mortal enemy.”

Right. Sooner they all got this over with, sooner they’d get some answers. Though he wasn’t sure how soon over would be, the biker guy with the tuft of ponytail and gray scarf was looking a little less than happy-

Pale hair sauntered forward, all young biker swagger. In the overhead light with less teeth coming at them, Jack could make out that Uryuu’s hair wasn’t white, exactly. More like a very pale gray. Eyes were still hazel, though, and way too old for that face. “So. Might as well start with me.” Moving quick and easy, Uryuu took off the wide belt and vest, then started unwrapping his arms. “Getting the steamsmith into that horde was no festival stroll.”

Kibito drifted their direction as Uryuu stripped down to odd rope and loincloth underwear; well, as unobtrusively as the biggest guy in the room could drift. “Everyone here knows the risks, so we can keep it to bath-decent. In a station they don’t take chances. You stay on the hayajiro, or you let them check everything.”

Daniel blinked. “Um. Everything?”

“Everything.” Kibito gave Sam a slightly sheepish look. “We can give you a screen and ladies here, Carter. In the station... they won’t.”

 _Yep. Definitely going to get tricky_ , Jack thought, as Kibito headed back to Kurusu. But it was probably safer if they handled Teal’c’s little problem after everyone else here was checked. The calmer everyone was when Junior showed up, the better.

And the little bit playing out here was interesting. Scarf-guy - Eishun, if Jack had heard the names right - hadn’t wanted to strip down in front of Kurusu’s bunch. So Uryuu was making it obvious _he_ would. Kurusu looked him over, quick but thorough, then nodded. And turned away to strip himself, and let Kibito check him, while Uryuu grabbed his clothes back and waved a finger to get Eishun to get moving. The scarfed biker sighed, but stripped down, letting Uryuu check bare skin.

Which seemed to break the tension in the room, as their hosts broke into small groups so Kurusu - and then Kibito, after Kurusu’d checked him - could look over every one of them, while still never leaving more than half of everyone stripped and unarmed.

Jack winced at the pink line on Kurusu’s torso, disappearing back under what looked like a white linen shirt after Kibito checked him. Front _and_ back. Somebody’d stabbed that guy good. Less than a few weeks ago, if he knew scars. Ow.

 _Stabbed him through, and didn’t kill him. These guys are tough_.

“Two allied groups,” Daniel murmured.

Jack glanced at him. “Daniel?”

“The bikers aren’t part of Kurusu’s bushi,” the archaeologist clarified. “They’re allied, but Uryuu’s Eishun’s leader.”

Which sorted right with what Jack had just seen. “And Kurusu just gave the okay for Uryuu... huh.”

“Different armed groups working together.” Sam frowned. “You think they pick up survivors a lot?”

“Starting to look that way. Which is kind of not good,” Jack admitted.

“What? Why-” Daniel cut himself off. “Oh.”

“If the hayajiro must often take in survivors, then there have been several attacks,” Teal’c concluded. “It appears that the Kabane are not only in Keishi.”

Yeah. Raised the question of _where else_ the Kabane could be.

 _Maybes and might-bes later. Let’s get through right now first_. Because Jack could feel the rest of his team tensing up all over again-

So he shrugged off his backpack, careful to plant it on a clean patch of deck, and gave a wry, sidelong look to his poor, hapless, mostly innocent 2IC. “Carter. Remember, we’re professionals. Do not ogle the eye candy.”

Sam almost sputtered; covered most of it with a cough, as Daniel tried not to snicker and Teal’c raised a hairless brow. Cleared her throat, and eyed him right back. “Sir, Eishun’s too scruffy, Kurusu’s too formal, Kibito’s like your friendly big brother, the blond over there is _too_ pretty-”

Gun traded for a rag and a bucket, the blond in pale green who’d helped them in shot a disbelieving look their way.

“-and Uryuu’s _way_ too young.”

Eh? Sure, thin reckless biker guy, but-

Thin reckless biker guy whose cheeks still had baby fat under that face-gripping headgear. Oof.

What was worse, a teenage biker guy who hadn’t hesitated, or even struck a pose, stripping down to his skivvies in front of a very attractive exotic woman. Because Sam was definitely that, even with all the curves tamped down by the uniform. None of the guys here had - and if Jack had to guess, they were all in the prime fighting age range, late teens to maybe mid-thirties. Which was also the prime “hey, look at me!” age. He was a guy, he should know.

Which implied all of them had been through so many of these inspections, with naked ladies and the threat of the next guy maybe suddenly being a ravening Kabane, that all they wanted was to get through it and _not look at naked_.

...Which went right back to, the Kabane weren’t just in Keishi. Great. And nobody’d explained beyond the bare bones of what Kabane were-

Jack took a mental step back from that thought, and told the hairs on the back of his neck to stand down. Because that, and Kurusu’s Flat What at even being asked, implied _everybody knew_ what Kabane were.

 _Oh hell, we need to talk to these people. Soon. Because we_ don’t know. _We don’t know how they infect, we don’t know what wakes them up - we don’t know_ anything.

And that meant they’d have to tell these people a _lot_. First, because honesty demanded honesty; just because someone’s tech level was lower than yours, didn’t mean they couldn’t tell when you were lying to their faces. See SG-1 and Tok’ra, any day of the week. And second... well. _We’re not even from the same planet_ , might be the only way to get through the fact that, _no, really we don’t know what Kabane are, tell us_ everything.

Okay. He’d have to try to ease into it. Somehow. And he’d better start quick, because with the locals having covered each other Kurusu and Kibito were headed for SG-1, and he doubted they’d wait on that screen to check the rest of the team. “Ah, this might be a stupid question, but... we saw Ikoma fight those things by shoving his arm right into the fangs.” Jack pointed down at the floor. “How come he’s not here?”

Kurusu scowled.

Kibito gave his leader a wry look, and shrugged at Jack. “Because right now, Ikoma and Mumei are checking for hitchhikers.”

“Yes!” Blond cheered quietly.

That snapped Kurusu’s gaze to him. “Sukari.”

“What?” Mopping at a stain, Sukari did not look one bit repentant. “You think I _want_ to go under the Koutetsujou again? Not while we’re moving. No.”

 _Not while we’re_ \- Jack did not let his jaw drop. “You mean they’re checking _under the moving train?_ ”

“Now you’re just doing that on purpose,” Sukari muttered.

“Under the _hayajiro_ ,” Kibito said firmly. “And no, probably Ikoma’s doing that while Mumei keeps watch. He’s a steamsmith; he knows where things can get stuck.”

“The steamsmith and the mosquito are both crazy, but they’re careful,” Uryuu shrugged. “Not much point in checking those two... until the biting’s over, anyway.”

Which led to scattered, muffled snickers across the car, and Jack finally felt one of the knots in his nerves unkink. After all, if guys in the middle of a Kabane apocalypse still thought some things were crazy, then at least SG-1 was in the hands of the _sane_ people.

Relatively sane. Close enough for government work.

And his own relatively sane linguist nudged him, none too lightly. “Um, Jack? Maybe we can just not use the word _train?_ ”

That deserved an aside glance, at the least. “Why? A train’s a train.”

“And a bike is a bike,” Daniel acknowledged, “but think about what would happen if you asked a Hell’s Angel about his _tricycle_.”

...Oh. And _ouch_. Given that this language actually had a _word_ for tricycle, Danny was probably dead on the mark. No wonder Sukari was fuming. “Ah.” Jack shrugged at their hosts. “Sorry? Your _Iron Fortress_ is scariest thing I’ve ever seen come down the rails.” Huh. And there was a thought. “Does it scare Kabane?”

Dressed and armed again, Uryuu rolled his eyes. “ _Nothing_ scares Kabane-”

“Oi, Sukari,” came through one of the wall tubes; the same voice that’d just barely warned them before the hayajiro put pedal to the metal. “Someone let Kajika in? She’s got her hands full with that screen.”

Kibito grinned, heading for the front end of the car to crank that hatch open.

The brunette who almost stumbled in was dressed in the same light green as Sukari, only with an orange under-tunic instead of blue. “Oh! Kibito, thank you.”

Kibito steadied her with one hand, easy as a feather, holding the hatch while she pulled the folded wood-and-paper screen in against the wind leaking through the passage between the cars.

Jack took a step sideways to get a better look at the equipment, noting Sam was doing the same. Huh. Looked like there was an armored passageway between the cars. Just, not sealed down tight at each end the way the individual car hatches were. Which... made sense. This was a train, not a submarine. It had to be able to bend around curves.

Lady and screen inside, Kibito cranked the hatch closed again. “How are the little ones?”

“Lady Ayame’s maid has them.” Kajika glanced at the floor, stepping around blood with what looked like too much practice. “I hated to ask her, but you know they’re so young they’ll put _anything_ in their mouth.”

Jack felt a bristle coming on. _You have kids on this-?_

Daniel poked him in the side. Hard. “You brought your children aboard?” Daniel asked. _Much_ more calmly than Jack would have managed.

Kajika blinked at the linguist, then blushed. “Oh no, they’re not mine. Well, you could say they are, I’m Aragane, and they’re Aragane, so... they’re orphans. You came out of Keishi? What were you doing in Keishi? It’s been swallowed for twenty years!”

 _Swallowed_. What a lovely turn of phrase. Also, what were orphans doing on a train - okay, _armored_ train - that made a habit of heading into Kabane-infested territory....

And a colonel’s brain caught up with good-guy outrage, because the Koutetsujou had announced their mission as _salvage and rescue_ , and even with this train moving at speed no one had said anything about an ETA back to safe territory. Meaning odds were they’d pulled on the kids the way they had SG-1, out of the teeth of a horde, and obviously the locals thought taking the kids along for the ride was safer than tucking them in a storm shelter and coming back.

Given Kabane could punch in armor steel, and _think_ , at least enough to figure out how prey was getting away and follow it - yeah, no, Jack wouldn’t count on a locked up shelter either.

 _Twenty years. They’ve had Kabane in a major city for... oh hell_.

From the looks on the rest of his team, they’d caught that timeframe as well as he had.

 _Ma’chello, what the hell did you_ do?

Kajika was still looking up at him; open and friendly and waiting for an answer. And Jack wasn’t sure where to start.

“That, we are still trying to determine,” Kurusu stated. Inclined his head to Kajika, who nodded quickly and headed for Sam to set up the screen.

Jack added up Kajika’s size, weight, and lack of obvious weapons or training, and told his nerves to relax. Sam could handle any funny business bare-handed. Or bare... bad colonel, no going there. “Okay,” he said levelly; taking vest and weapons off first, and handing them to Teal’c. “Let me start by saying I really hope you guys don’t find anything... _ow_.”

The bushi tensed. But relaxed again, as Kurusu looked over Jack’s complaining arms and said nothing.

Jack eyed the finger-shaped bruises left clear by his t-shirt, and shook his head. Granted, he wasn’t going to complain given the alternative had been fangy undeath, but still. “Your guy Ikoma? Has a grip like a _vice_.”

“Steamsmith,” Kibito quipped. “On a bad day, I’ve seen him dent armor plate.”

From the amount of stifled chuckles that got, it had to be an inside joke. Maybe Danny’d get lucky and track it down for them.

Apparently bruises were okay. Which made sense, no skin breach. He hoped. But Kurusu gave him a pass, and the same sort of nod Uryuu’d gotten-

Jack held up his hands, and nodded toward Daniel. “No offense, but we don’t know _anything_ about Kabane. Until we know what to look for, I’m counting on you guys to tell us what’s dangerous. And what’s not.”

Would you look at that, at least one of the worry-wrinkles had eased off Kurusu’s forehead. How many panicked civilians did he butt heads with, if simple rules of containment sanity was that much of a relief?

Apparently Daniel passed. From the sounds behind the screen Sam was taking longer, but some of those murmurs sounded like they might be girl-talk, and hey, the more they could connect with the locals the better-

“Oh, I’d love that breast-band design!” Kajika’s voice was honestly cheery. “Yukina’s got a top like that, but yours looks lighter. Are they hard to sew?”

Daniel blinked, and traded a glance with Jack, obviously adding up in his head Kajika’s asset-to-height ratio. For a formerly married man, Danny could definitely blush.

Whatever Sam said back was too low to hear. Not that Jack was trying to. Honest.

“Well, if you could, I’d love to try it. We’re clear!”

Kurusu nodded, not taking his eyes off Jack. And Teal’c. “You are stalling.”

Kibito was standing ready. Uryuu had his arms folded - which left one set of fingers in easy twitching range of a Ranger-sized knife. And that didn’t even count everyone else armed in the room.

“I am,” Jack admitted shamelessly. “Because this next bit is _really_ hard to explain. See, we’re not from around here. Really not from around here. And Teal’c - well, he’s not even from where we come from. And he’s... different.”

He’d considered trying to bluff past this, for all of about five seconds. But he’d seen how fast that infection spread on Tozuka. And the SGC had found out the hard way Junior wasn’t proof against _everything_.

Kurusu leveled that gaze at him. “Different how?”

Not friendly. But not unfriendly, either. For a guy who stood straight as a blade Kurusu seemed remarkably ready to listen to the rescued weirdos.

“First, let me say we’ve known Teal’c almost three years now, and he’s _always_ had this,” Jack said practically. “Should be skin-colored, shouldn’t be bruised, shouldn’t be bleeding. T?”

With a nod, Teal’c lifted his shirt.

And if Jack had needed any more proof the crew on this hayajiro had had their weirdness meters thoroughly broken, the deadpan response to Teal’c’s larva pouch was it. Granted, the bushi shifted on their feet a little, and Sukari wasn’t the only one who flinched when Junior stuck his snaky head out to see what was up. But compared to the usual startled jumps and aimed weaponry, this crew was downright peaceful.

Kurusu barely raised an eyebrow. “Uryuu.”

The teen biker shook himself like shedding water, marching right up to crouch and take a good look. “Huh.” Stood, stepping back with a frown. “Far as I know? Kabane don’t do animals, and they don’t come smaller than humans. They might be bigger. Never little.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Think you better call the mosquito. She saw a lot more weirdness than I ever did.”

Kurusu nodded sharply. Kept his gaze on Jack, as Kibito stepped over to another speaking tube. “We will need to keep you under observation for three days to be sure. But it does not appear to be an infection.”

But now he had even more questions, Jack knew. He braced himself, Jaffa was hard enough to explain on Earth where they knew about aliens-

“For now,” Kurusu took a breath, “let us make sure you have not _also_ picked up an infection.”

Damn. The guy had self-control down to a science.

 _Priorities. This guy’s got ‘em. Keep man-eating infectious monsters off the hayajiro first, worry about weird later_.

Teal’c had barely pulled his pants back on when the hatch started opening again. Mumei bounced in, still in combat gear; but Jack guessed someone must have taken the time to check her, because she’d cleaned up and tied a pretty purple ribbon at her throat. She glanced at Teal’c, but skipped over to where Kajika was folding the screen back up first, staring up at the older girl with wide eyes.

Kajika smiled, and gave her a hug. “You came back.”

“It was just one horde.” Teenage grumpy, but Mumei squeezed back. “We didn’t even have time to run down our canisters!”

“Good.” Kajika breathed a sigh of relief. “He’s over there.”

“He?” Mumei glanced at Teal’c again, then at Kibito. “You just said to come.”

“We didn’t want this over the speakers,” the big guy stated. “Teal’c. Would you show her?”

Teal’c inclined his head to the girl. “We are most appreciative of your rescue.”

Mumei gave him a look askance, then walked right up and waved a finger in his face. “Next time don’t wake up so many Kabane! Just a little longer, and we could have had a Fused Colony, and the Koutetsujou almost derailed last time.”

Oh, that so did not sound good. “What’s a Fused Colony?” Jack asked. From the twitches and shudders, it was not good. Given these guys faced down hordes of Kabane, he had a really bad feeling about that.

“Something nobody thought was real until it almost killed us,” Sukari put in; still scrubbing various spots, even if he was keeping an amused eye on the proceedings. “That’s why Mumei needs to check your friend now.”

The girl leaned in as Teal’c pulled up his shirt again. Looked. Listened. _Sniffed_.

“...Aww.” Skipping back from the four red eyes, Mumei grinned. “That’s so ugly, it’s almost cute!”

Practiced stoic or not, Jack saw the tension finally go out of Kurusu’s shoulders. “Not something you have seen before?” the swordsman stated, as Teal’c bemusedly hid his symbiote away again.

“Nope!” A girlish shrug. “Whatever it is, it’s not Kabane.”

The mass sigh of relief was a palpable breeze. Jack let himself relax just a little too, gathering in his team with a look, and bumping a fist against Daniel’s shoulder as the archaeologist tried not to slump in post-adrenaline crash. “So we’re good? We can explain, but it could take a little while....”

Kurusu held up a hand; polite, not the choppy cut-off Jack had halfway expected. “We will have more time later. For now, keep... whatever that is out of sight. It would be wise for Teal’c,” he struggled with the name, but almost managed it, “to avoid the Kongokaku completely.”

“Because refugees, panic, bad in close quarters,” Jack guessed. “Are they that bad? Teal’c doesn’t look anything like - well. Not gray, not fangy, not infected.”

“Like they care,” Uryuu _tch_ ed, heading for the bikes to give them a loving look-over. “Getting these back past them is going to be a pain, why’d you put the Kongokaku in the fourth car....”

“Because it was as far from the locomotive and _you_ as we could get them.” Kibito shook his head. “Do you want them closer? Or right next to the sortie car?”

“Damn.” Uryuu made a move for the handlebars. Hesitated, at Eishun’s quick look. “What?”

“Boss.” Eishun’s voice was quiet, but determined. “Maybe we should leave them here. For now. I can stay with them.”

Ooo boy. Jack breathed out, deliberately hanging onto calm. Traded a glance with his team, taking in the little twitches and Teal’c’s deep stillness that meant they’d caught that flicker of unease loud and clear. One of the locals was _specifically_ worried about Kongokaku panic. Enough not to want to risk critical transport near them.

Kurusu’s scowl darkened.

Uryuu eyed it. Bristled a little. Grumbled under his breath, and nodded at Eishun. “Better tell ‘em.”

“They’ve been keeping it down around you from Aragane,” Eishun shrugged. “But....”

“Not all of us.” Kajika snapped the screen closed, eyes alight and fierce. “The other day they almost jumped Suzuki. _Suzuki!_ ”

She didn’t have red hair, and there was a definite lack of penlight. But Jack felt a distinct vibe of Napoleon in the air.

“Suzu-” Kurusu cut himself off, as if he was too dumbfounded to finish. “Are they _mad?_ ”

“They weren’t the most calm and collected sorts when Elder Dogen brought them on board.” Kibito sighed, and gave Jack a frank look. “No offense, O’Neill, but you’d all better stay clear of the fourth car. If they’re even talking about threatening one of our best mechanics-” Kibito stopped. Blinked, and traded a quick glance with Kurusu.

The swordsman turned a slightly milder glare on Kajika. “Ikoma doesn’t know.”

Kajika’s fingers gripped the screen, as she looked away to meet Mumei’s unhappy frown. “Well, you two were already staying away from them-”

Someone pounded on the car’s rear hatch.

Jack motioned Teal’c back behind the rest of the team before Kurusu could give him a warning glance. Nobody hammered steel like that unless they meant trouble.

The hatch unsealed, revealing a tight bunch of four men. The leader had thick brown hair pulled back into a tufted topknot, the most impressive handlebar mustache and goatee combo Jack had ever seen, two swords to Kurusu’s one, and a dignified air that reminded him of General Hammond delivering bad news. Behind him were two other bushi; one a bit more heavy than anyone Jack had seen so far, with layers of dark and light brown and a long, angry face, the other in more blue-gray who looked nervous enough to panic a dozen new recruits. The pair of them were, ah, _escorting_ a long-haired bushi in a tan cloak with no sword _and_ no gun, who looked less angry than about two inches from totally fed up.

“Keisuke?” Kurusu aimed that name at the cloaked bushi, then stared straight at Formal Guy. “Elder Dogen. We are still cleaning the sortie car. What is the emergency-?”

Angry Face shoved Keisuke in, shaking out his hand after as if he’d touched something foul. “We caught him trying to conceal a wound!”

Jack motioned his team back another few steps, saw Sukari and Kajika easing out of potential lines of fire; Kajika tugging on Teal’c’s sleeve to get him _behind her_ , which was both kind of sweet and very, very worrying. As nerve-wracking as little Mumei moving to shield Kajika, and Kibito stepping forward to put his substantial frame between SG-1 and the sightlines of the guys who’d come in.

 _Dogen_ , Jack realized. _These must be the Kongokaku guys. The ones Kurusu’s bunch are trying to_ not _panic_.

And given how strange SG-1 apparently looked to Kurusu’s guys, who’d had their panic buttons kind of broken - yeah. Keeping out of Dogen’s sight would be a good thing.

The rest of Kurusu’s bushi made a loose circle, further blocking the team from view, and - ah. Uryuu and Eishun had gotten themselves out of sight _and_ set up for a good shot at Dogen’s back. Oh boy, this could get ugly _real_ quick.

“Naokata.” Kurusu’s voice was very, very quiet. “Take your hands off my bushi.”

“It is no less than the truth.” Dogen folded his arms, the picture of deliberate composure. “He had concealed the wound, and was heading through our car to the rear.”

Kurusu’s nostrils flared. “As were my orders for anyone wounded beyond the third car.”

That mustache twitched, much less composed. “You ordered that!”

“Yes.” Kurusu’s face was cold. “We intend to confine any wounded to the last car. I ordered my bushi wounded in the rear half of the train to pass quickly from your area to prevent any panic, inform the Hunters of their status, and enter quarantine.”

Naokata snorted. “And you believed he’d follow those orders? Throw him off-”

 _Off_ came out a little squeaky, as Kurusu’s hand dropped near his hilt and a whole lotta rifles came up.

 _Houston, we have about hit the end of Sword Guy’s temper_. Jack raised his eyebrows, slightly bemused. _And it took this long? SG material, here_.

Then again, maybe slow fuses were a local thing. All those muzzles, and Dogen didn’t twitch. “Do you doubt my word?”

Kurusu was just as still. And just as deadly, like an aircraft carrier before everything went boom.  “No. Keisuke?”

Silent, Keisuke held up one hand, sleeve falling away to reveal a bandaged slash. Long, but shallow, Jack judged. And from the clean edges, it’d been made by sharp metal maybe half a day ago; not teeth, or even fingernails. Would have drawn a lot of blood, but not actually _dangerous_ as long as someone cleaned it out and bandaged it up good. Naokata was flipping out over nothing-

“I was not bitten,” Keisuke stated. “But there was blood flying as we defended the cars.” 

...And maybe Naokata had a point after all, Jack realized, seeing Kurusu beckon the man over to examine his wound. Sober as he’d been standing with a sword, when Tozuka asked for him by name. Oh. Damn.

“Clean the wound again before you go further.” Kurusu kept his gaze on Dogen as Keisuke bowed, and headed for Sukari, who’d grabbed a little kit with... something in a bottle that stung, from the way the guy winced when Sukari swiped it on. And stained, a familiar yellowish-brown on the skin.

“They’ve got iodine?” Daniel murmured.

“Looks like.” And oh what a relief that was. But Jack kept his voice just as low. The last thing Kurusu’s side needed was suspicious strangers getting Dogen’s attention. Dogen _had_ seen them, Jack could tell. And seemed to be deliberately not looking at them. Huh.

“Elder Dogen.” Kurusu straightened a hair, eyes hard as glacier ice. “We do not ignore the danger. We will inspect everyone, and send anyone at risk to the last car to be confined _according to the law_.” 

Jack felt Daniel’s startled glance, and tried not to grimace. Twenty years with a zombie plague in the middle of a huge city? Yeah, laws on possible zombie infectees were a given. Honestly, knowing people, panic, and just how tough Kabane seemed to be, Jack was kind of surprised confined for the incubation period was even an _option_.

 _Almost hate to say it, but I think we found the good guys_.

“Confined to the car you took from the Keishi railyard,” Dogen said flatly.

Behind him Jack heard Sam’s stifled yip of laughter; had to almost hold his jaw closed not to snicker himself. SG-1 had - ah - _appropriated_ some interesting stuff in their missions, but never a railway car.

So the Koutetsujou had snuck into a zombie-haunted city, and promptly apoca-looted it. Guts. They had ‘em-

“My people might rather suicide!”

 _Erk_.

Jack did a double-take, glanced at his team. From Daniel’s wide eyes and the other two stiffening in _ready to move_ , no he had _not_ heard Dogen wrong.

Kurusu’s eyes narrowed. “Then that is their choice.”

Ooo boy. From the way Dogen started, the Elder had expected that to be a trump card. And Kurusu was calling his hand.

_Question is why Dogen thought that would work, when Kurusu’s already lost guys protecting them?_

Daniel’s gaze was flicking between the Kongokaku, Kurusu’s bunch, and Uryuu’s pair. Blond brows scrunched down; Jack could almost see him comparing little details of armament, hairstyle, clothing.

 _Yeah, yeah, they’re all dressed like steampunk samurai gone mad_ -

Only no, they _weren’t_. Dogen’s bunch had good, high-quality cloth; linen and some local variant on silk, looked like. Kurusu’s clothes were just as good cloth, clean, tailored, and had probably seen at least a hand-iron before this day had gone to hell in a handbasket. But they were - well, battered, in a way Jack knew from too many deployments. Kibito’s and the others, same.

 _Dogen’s noble_ , Daniel mouthed at him.

Which fit with what Jack had figured; high-class security versus guys on the sharp end. So likely Dogen just hadn’t grasped how up against the wall of exhaustion and stretched-thin Kurusu’s people were, and how little patience they’d have for dramatic hysterics.

Or maybe he did. Jack thought he could see just a little sweat at that distinguished brow. So why was he still pushing?

Naokata glared at Keisuke, then back at Kurusu. “Fine words, from those who brought the Kabane!”

 _Aha. That’s why_.

Dogen had enough brains and experience to see how short tempers here were. Looked like Naokata didn’t. And Jack would bet next week’s pay Naokata was just one of a whole bunch of Kongokaku who thought the same.

Still. _Brought_ the Kabane? Were people really that panicked, that they’d think anyone sane would bring those hordes anywhere?

“I was miles away when Kongokaku fell, fishing Ikoma from the depths where Biba’s men had dropped him to die,” Kurusu stated. “Without Ikoma’s weapons against the Nue, none of you would be alive. If you now wish to throw your lives away, we will not stop you.”

From Uryuu’s sharp-toothed grin, that suited the teen just _fine_. Kibito stirred with a frown, but he didn’t even glance at Kurusu. Meaning he might not like it, but he’d added up his men’s condition as well as Jack had, and there were some losses he just wasn’t going to take for someone else being lethally stupid.

Jack planned to have words with somebody about taking five to cool down tempers later. Right now?

 _Never turn down free info_. Ikoma’s _weapons. A steamsmith - local equivalent to engineer, far as I can tell. Guy who came up with something that took down this Nue, whatever that was_.

Something that’d helped Kabane wreck a whole city, sounded like. They’d ask about it later. Important thing was, if SG-1 wanted answers on what Kabane were and how to kill them, sounded like that was the guy to ask.

...Assuming Ikoma came out alive from checking under a _moving train_ for man-eating zombies. Yikes.

Dogen huffed, but stood unbending. “My people are afraid. I cannot guarantee the safety of anyone taken through our car-”

“Through _whose_ car?” Kurusu held his gaze a moment longer, then formally inclined his head. “The Elder’s advice as to the temper of his people is timely.” There might have been the slightest spark of wry humor in blue eyes. “We will go over the roofs.”

 _Don’t laugh_ , Jack told himself firmly, as Dogen choked, Naokata’s jaw dropped, and the unnamed bushi went pale. _Don’t laugh. They won’t think it’s funny_.

It was. It so was. Kurusu had nailed down whose hayajiro this was, given Dogen what was probably the local _sir yes sir_ , and frankly stated they were going through with the original plan anyway. Oh, and by the way, made it crystal-clear that when it came to crazy, the Koutetsujou crew could take Kongokaku with one hand tied behind their back and a titanium spork in their teeth.

Didn’t help that Mumei’s eyes were suspiciously bright. And Uryuu and Eishun were all but leaning on each other, stifling cackles.

And... Dogen’s gaze had just slid the tiniest bit Jack’s way. Just enough to get a good quick read on a strange soldier’s expression.

 _That guy is a lot more calculating than he looks_.

Which was even more evident in the way the Elder straightened, as if Kurusu had been nothing but scrupulously polite. “If you intend to confine the infected of every car to the last, then that would seem the most practical solution.” Dogen paused, a deliberate dig of upper-hand knife. “After all, it would be so simple for those lost to the infection to... slip off.”

Jack didn’t need Daniel to translate that to, _Slip or be pushed_. Which was raising the hackles on Kurusu’s bushi all over again....

But Naokata and Nervous looked satisfied. As if their leader really had put one over on Kurusu.

And Kurusu seemed inclined to let them think that way, bowing with what looked like millimeter precision to Dogen. The Elder eyed the courtesy, then turned on his heel and decamped, bushi in tow, hatch sealing behind them with an ominous _clang_.

Leaving Keisuke behind. Which, Jack knew, was one of the things Kurusu had been aiming for.

“Princess’ Uncle,” Uryuu snorted, finally taking his hand off his knife. “No damn sense at _all_.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jack said, stretching almost lazily. Uryuu was a kid. Uryuu was also out on the battlefield against the Kabane, and damn well better know about the politics behind every battlefield before they got him killed. “Could be he’s got a lot more sense than you think. Naokata came in here ready to kick ass and take names. Oh, sure, you know and I know you’d have _slaughtered_ him.” Jack paused, long enough for Uryuu to take that in. “But kill one of Kongokaku’s bushi, and the whole car’s going to panic. Right?”

“They would,” Kibito agreed.

Kurusu said nothing. Listening.

 _Wants to know what we see of this mess. Smart guy_. “Now? No panic. You got your guy back, you’re going to get quarantine your way, and Dogen’s _still_ got Naokata convinced he won something. Which means he’ll calm down. For now. Nope, Dogen’s no dummy.” Jack met Kurusu’s gaze directly. “But smart as he is, he may be in over his head. That Naokata? He’s going to keep doing that.”

Oh yeah. Kurusu was just as sharp as he looked, because for an instant blue eyes looked _so tired_.

 _He figured it out. But the guy’s probably been too damn busy keeping people alive to tell his guys_ everything _he figured out_.

“Sure, he’ll stick to his... honor, I’m guessing?” Jack shrugged. “That’s the only thing keeping him together. But I’ve seen this before. I don’t know what happened when Kongokaku got hit, but that guy’s world fell apart. And when he hit bottom - you guys bounced. He _shattered_.”

That intake of breath behind him was Daniel, relieved that they were on the same page when it came to decoding all the little clues of posturing, weapons, and makeshift making-it-work all over the place.

_Yeah. Kongokaku’s not the only refugees. But we’ll talk that out later. After we handle this mess._

“He wants a target.” Kibito let out a frustrated breath. “And the Koutetsujou’s full of them.” He eyed Kurusu. “Like you said. They’re brittle.”

“Speaking of targets.” Jack nodded toward Keisuke’s re-bandaged arm, currently being turned this way and that by Mumei as she squinted, sniffed, and did everything but lick the wound. “Just how likely is it that’s a... problem?”

From the grim looks, maybe he didn’t want to know.

“Hard to say.” Uryuu folded his arms with a huff, like he wished he had better news and resented himself for being that nice. “It wasn’t a fresh wound, and all the fights the Koutetsujou bushi have been in - heck, they’ve been in more than some Hunters. They’re careful. If Keisuke says he didn’t get blood straight in the wound, he’d know. _Probably_ it’s okay.”

“But probably’s not good enough. Got it.” Jack nodded toward his team. “How can we help?”

For a moment, just one, Kurusu and his buddy Kibito looked exhausted.

Then they both shoved past it; Kurusu calm and grim again, Kibito standing straight as if this was nothing, they hit Kabane three times a day and picked their teeth between meals. “I think we could all stand a little rest. So none of us are thinking about some simpler options that aren’t half as honorable as just roof-walking around the problem.” He smiled at Kajika. “O’Neill says his people don’t know about Kabane-”

The lady _stared_ at them.

“-So would you mind finding them a quiet corner in the first car?” Kibito plowed on. “You could tell them a few things.”

“I... yes.” Kajika stood straighter. “I can do that.” She blushed. “I’ve listened to Ikoma and- I’ve listened to a lot.”

Kurusu’s glance flicked to the Berettas, and the MP5s. “I do not think our ammunition will suit your weapons. You will have to base your strategies on knockback, until there is time for you to practice with a steam rifle.” He turned back to Keisuke, and glanced at Uryuu.

“Don’t worry, we’ll guard the quarantine.” Uryuu smirked. “Inside _and_ out.”

“We appreciate it,” Keisuke said quietly. “I’d rather not get eaten.”

Right, and everyone was just going to Not Talk about the other options the Kongokaku might bring to the table. Jack did not envy Kurusu one bit.

Didn’t envy Dogen either, but that was taking a little more work, and Jack knew it. He’d have to have a long talk with his team. Just because Dogen was more likely to get them killed now... well, odds were the guy had some kind of political heft, and when they finally got to a safe spot that was going to be _important_.

 _Darn_.

For now, time to follow the nice young lady and her bouncing Kabane-killing mosquito sidekick. “Don’t worry!” Mumei called back over her shoulder. “We’ll check on you.” She stuck her tongue out at Sukari. “And _you_ got lucky.”

A choked groan from the steamsmith. “...Are you _kidding me?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Kurusu. (And Ikoma, who has a headache after talking to Suzuki.) There are a few sounds Japanese just doesn’t have - “ks”, “tee”, and “fyu”, for example. The ones in Teal’c in particular end up as a _mess._  
> ...Yes, Ikoma still has green hair. I did say I was basing colors on the live-action.... ;)
> 
> And I have a new book out! You can find the details on my blog, Crossover Queen's Creative Chaos!
> 
> https://crossoverqueen.wordpress.com/


	4. Could Be Worse, Could Be Raining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SG-1 catches their breath, and makes some observations.
> 
> There's something Kurusu particularly wants them to observe....

“Just take a few minutes to catch your breath. I’ve got quartermaster stuff to do, but - I’ll be back!”

Watching Kajika bustle off on what sounded like at least three other errands that needed to be handled _immediately_ , Jack sat on the lower of the two bunks on their tiny corner of the first car. The upper one he’d left folded up, so people had enough room to fling their hands around in sheer indignant frustration at the universe. The universe _deserved_ it. “Well. That happened.”

Sam helped Teal’c finish tacking up the tattered old indigo cloth Kajika and another lady in the car had hauled out for an impromptu privacy curtain, then slowly sat down on the floor, as if every last inch hurt. Teal’c waited a second for her to breathe, then sat where Sam could lean on him rather than shake down the curtain. Daniel didn’t even try to hold up his usual _I’m fine_ , collapsing on the bunk right by Jack as if it took an effort just to make sure his head didn’t hit the wall.

Jack patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah. Definitely not my most favorite day ever.”

And how. Morning hike over hills through abandoned city, always hard on the nerves; then zombies, train jump, guy who’d committed suicide like it was just the proper thing to do, that ice-cold sluice down the nerves of _what if we’re infected_ , and finally being bystanders on a facedown that could have turned into mass homicide with just one wrong word.

Not to mention Kurusu and Kibito had already vanished forward with Mumei before Kajika’d finished getting the curtain out, and he had no idea what kind of report they were going to give this Lady Ayame. Or how a noble lady would react to hearing about Teal’c and his involuntary sidekick. Especially given they’d lost a guy in the rescue.

Today sucked. Really, really sucked.

_On top of that, we missed lunch_.

When the world was falling apart, the little things made a difference. MREs would be okay. Something hot would be better. Though who knew how well anyone could cook on a moving train.

“What did- how did-” Daniel made a few frustrated gurgling noises that reminded Jack of the last time he’d had to unclog the sink, then took a deep breath. “This is horrible. How could Ma’chello, how could _anyone-?_ ”

Yeah. Yeah, Jack had been thinking that himself. But. “We don’t know who let the Kabane loose. We don’t know if they’re native here. We don’t know if there’s a meteor crater in the north and we should be watching out for a crazy silver-haired guy with one wing and a honkin’ big sword talking about Reunion. We just _don’t know_.” Jack shrugged. “Granted, I’m not betting he _didn’t_. Important thing is, the Kabane are out there. And these are the people who managed to live through it.”

“Not the only important thing, sir.” Sam looked at him dead-on. “We don’t know if Ma’chello took any Kabane with him when he left, either.”

“She’s right.” Daniel shivered. “They could be on other planets, and we’d never know until a team came back infected-”

And this was one of the downsides of having geniuses on the team. Too good imaginations. “Which makes it even _more_ important we keep it together and figure out how the locals kill them,” Jack stated. “Key point, there. They _can_ be killed.” He leaned back a little, enough to reach back and brace against the armored wall. “Kind of curious about how. Whatever Uryuu and the others shot, it went through. The Kabane didn’t... bounce. Whatever the hell that knockback is. Yeah, sure, from the look of those steam rifles they’re using a way bigger caliber, but that _shouldn’t happen_.”

“It should not.” Teal’c’s eyes narrowed, as if he were replaying that horrible first rush in his head. “Nor should my staff weapon’s blasts have been partly deflected. As if from an imperfect shield.”

“Force dispersion?” Sam frowned, some of the shadows fading from her eyes as she latched onto _Science!_ “The staff weapon relies on a burst of hot plasma. The Kabane you blasted were....”

“Peeled?” Jack offered.

From her look askance, Sam wished she had a more science-y term. “It looked that way. Layers of skin and muscle seared, definitely, but the area of effect was always wider than it should have been. And more shallow. As if part of the heat and force was redistributed.” A deeper frown. “If they can redirect some of the momentum, from a blast and the bullets, it’d explain why they’re pushed back... but they’re _zombies_.”

“Ah! Not zombies, Carter. Kabane,” Jack waved a finger. “We don’t know _what_ they can do yet. But in my experience, anything offworld that glows is capable of all kinds of freaky.”

“Probably just the force-dispersion kind of freaky.” Daniel shook his head, and looked up at them all again. “I mean, well... these people are still alive.”

“That they are, and if it comes down to a throw-down between Dogen’s people and Kurusu, we want Kurusu and Kibito alive,” Jack said bluntly. “We don’t know how things went down around here yet, but I’m guessing those two are the main reason the Koutetsujou is up and running instead of torn to pieces by people panicking when their freaking world fell apart.”

Because the one thing that was _not_ happening in this car was panic. Old people, younger people, a scattering of kids; sure, there was case of nerves or two, and he’d seen a few people quietly praying, but most of ‘em seemed sure the danger was tracks away.

Wide range of types, too; from guys in torn hard-labor type gear to what looked like they could have been neat-dressed shopkeepers. Nobody’s cloth was as nice as Dogen’s silk, but even the most raggedy kimonos and robes were clean, nobody looked starving, and more than a few guys and women were doing small handcrafts and repairs on clothes and gear. And when people got bored, or someone needed to put down a sewing needle before their fingers cramped, there were books and pamphlets in hands or tucked into odd corners. Heck, a pair of oldsters a few bunks away were playing some kind of chess, for crying out loud.

Between that and the laundry casually strung between bunks but mostly out of the way of the doors - and of the _firing loopholes in the walls_ \- yeah. Refugee camp slash embattled defensive post on wheels. Like a gypsy caravan made out of tanks. It was... weird.

And oddly comforting. Because here were people who’d just left a battleground that’d make horror fans switch to fluffy magic ponies for life. Yet here they were. Living.

People didn’t mend clothes when the end of the world was at hand. They did that when they planned to see the next morning, and the one after that.

All in all, the car was as peaceful a bunch of refugees as Jack had ever seen. Reminded him of hurricane survivors down in the Caribbean, after the Navy had pulled in an aircraft carrier and sent in water, tents, and the medics. Maybe a little less formal and organized, but still. Calm. With that indefinable undercurrent of, _today is not the worst day, and things are getting better_.

As someone who’d dealt with more refugee situations than anyone ever wanted to, Jack had to admit he was impressed.

...Then again, maybe the locals just had good _twitchy bushi just out of combat_ survival instincts. Crowded as the car was, SG-1’s little corner and privacy curtain was first-class elbow room.

Jack eyed that curtain again. Faded, weather-worn; curtains was probably all it was good for. Which was interesting all by itself. In his experience, people on the run didn’t take wrecked stuff along. “Danny? How long do you think that cloth’s been outside?”

“Outside?” That cleared blue eyes behind glass, as Daniel leaned forward to examine the threads in question. “Not musty, no mold, some kind of cotton... I don’t think it was outside. Exposed, maybe, under partial cover; in a house, or under other objects someplace dry. Fairly recently, but it’s been cleaned since-” His breath caught. “Keishi isn’t the first place they hit for salvage.”

Sam and Teal’c traded glances. “So what does that mean?” Sam ventured.

“The Kongokaku are refugees,” Daniel stated. “But Aragane, Kurusu’s group - they’re refugees who started rescuing _other_ refugees.”

“And they’re doing it on a shoestring and anything they can scoop up at a run, looks like,” Jack added. “Think airbase civilians versus average Joe Blow out of the ‘burbs mall. Or the Cajun Navy versus the yacht club.”

Sam did a double-take. “Sir... are you saying Kurusu’s men aren’t military?”

Daniel held up a finger. “Not our kind of military. But they referred to a Lady Ayame, so - I’d guess they’re private noble military. Which is really interesting, because they said Ikoma is a steamsmith. And Sukari had a rifle too.”

“Armed noble types tend to get touchy about regular guys picking up lethal stuff,” Jack agreed. “Want to bet that’s one of the things setting Naokata off?”

“But....” Sam flung her hands wide, as if trying to encompass that outpouring of gray-skinned fangy death. “The Kabane come in _mobs_. And even if you can’t hit the heart, that - knockback works. It doesn’t matter how bad your aim is. They need everyone willing to shoot!” 

“Yeah, yeah; tactically stupid, but hey, people,” Jack said, almost cheerfully. Because knowing how people ticked and why a cracked guy might crack more was _important_. “Put anybody under scare-you-stupid stress, they fall back on what they know. That’s why we train guys so hard to do the _right_ thing. So when they’re tired and hungry and facing down man-eating zombie hordes, they do not screw up.” He shrugged. “And you saw where the wrong training got us. Boom, headshot - not so much.”

“Those of Aragane have remained flexible enough to alter their tactics, and their training.” Teal’c rested his arms on his knees. “They have overcome their fear of the Kabane.”

“How can you say that?” Daniel kept his voice low. “Tozuka committed _suicide_.”  

“The bushi Tozuka eliminated an enemy before it could attack anyone on the Koutetsujou.” Teal’c shook his head. “That is not fear, Daniel Jackson. That is the love of a warrior for his people.”

“Ordinarily I’d go with Patton and say you’re supposed to make the _other_ son of a bitch die, but the guy was out of options,” Jack agreed soberly. “ _God_ , I wish we had Doc here so we could find some.”

“That’s something we could offer, isn’t it, sir?” Sam asked quietly. “I mean, if this is an infection it’s a threat to anyone who might come through the ‘Gate. And anywhere they might go. We should have our doctors talk to their doctors.”

“Given possible risk of bullet-resistant zpocs spreading offworld, I think the general would say that is a good idea,” Jack said dryly. “Problem being getting back close enough to the ‘Gate to ask him.”

“...Oh.”

“Which is a problem for another day,” Jack forged on. “Right now we’re all in one piece, and given we’re heading away from Keishi, I’m guessing we should have a few hours before anything else tries to bite us. First priority is resting up, and food. Second - can we trust these people, and what the heck is going on?”

“The people of the Koutetsujou took great risks to save strangers who had ventured into a known danger.” Teal’c looked up at him. “And they warned us of more subtle dangers. Four warriors are no great threat to their numbers, and our weapons are not so suited for the battle they face that they would risk lives to gain them. Most of all, they recognize we are trained warriors, but they do not fear us. I believe we are safe.”

“Kurusu recognized radios,” Sam objected. “If he’s any kind of military he has to recognize the advantage secure communications would give him.”

“He’s military who answers to a noble lady, and odds are she’s the one who’ll ask us about that,” Daniel put in.

“She will?” Jack snapped his full attention on the linguist. “You think she’s got direct command?” Because yeah, Tozuka had mentioned a Lady Ayame, but they hadn’t seen anyone who could give Kurusu orders yet-

_And so far we’ve been here, and in a train car full of potentially contagious blood spatter_ , Jack realized. _No good 2IC is going to let the guy in command walk into that_.

“Dogen’s noble, and he got involved,” Daniel pointed out. “Either leading from the front really matters to these people, or - well, we’re on a train. There’s just not enough space to keep nobles properly separate from commoners or warriors.” He frowned. “And there’s something else. From the way everyone was acting, Dogen’s higher rank than the Aragane bushi. Yet Dogen didn’t even try to pull rank on Kurusu.”

“You mean, Kurusu’s standing for someone who ranks even higher than Dogen?” Sam perked up a little.

“Or at least has equal rank,” Daniel agreed. “And has the people who know how to run the hayajiro.”

“Game, set, match,” Jack said wryly. “Yeah. Possession being nine-tenths, and all that.” But Sam still had a point. “So speaking of possession, and tech....”

“We have radios, yes,” Daniel nodded. “They have working guns. And they seem... reasonable. Exhausted, but reasonable. If they want something, I’d guess they’ll try trading for it first. Or negotiating with us to use it for them. After all, Uryuu still has his bikes.” He squinted a little. “I just wonder what Uryuu thinks about us. And where they picked up his people.”

Oh good, two of them got the same vibes. “Allied, willing to take Kurusu’s lead when it’s down to the wire, but _not_ the same command structure,” Jack said thoughtfully. “Which - actually, is pretty good for us. Long as we stay reasonable as Uryuu, they’ll probably treat us the same way. Extra backup, that they don’t expect to kowtow _except_ when it comes down to protecting the train and not getting killed by Kabane.”

“We need to know everything we can about those... creatures.” Sam shuddered, like shaking off a dusting of snow down her neck. “Sir, I’ve seen a lot of things in this job, but I could have skipped this one.”

“Makes four of us, Carter. But that brings up the whole trading bit.” Jack waved a hand. “If we want them to tell us about the gray munchers, they’re going to want a lot of answers from us. So. What do we tell them, and whose side are we on? Because if it comes down to guys like Naokata getting riled up, we _will_ have to pick a side. Nobody likes Switzerland when the stakes are life and death.”

Daniel raised a hand. “I, um, kind of go for the people who were willing to pull us out of horrible walking death. And aren’t going to shoot Teal’c.”

“Not to mention Kurusu made it pretty clear Dogen doesn’t have control on this hayajiro,” Sam said practically. “If we’re going to get back to the ‘Gate, we’ll need armored transport.”

“We must also consider the danger to Elder Dogen’s position,” Teal’c noted. “His people are less flexible, and in great fear. To ally with strangers might undermine him, and allow those such as Naokata to attempt a coup.”

“Which would mean riots, shooting, all kinds of badness,” Jack agreed. “I’m guessing you all noticed Kurusu’s being _very polite_ to Dogen. And trying to let the guy save all the face he can carry off. So. Odds are Dogen is a VIP back where there’s less things trying to eat your face. If we brace up Kurusu and his Lady Ayame we need to back that, too. At least until we find out really good reasons otherwise.” He rubbed around the bruises on his arms, trying to ease some of the ache. “Still leaves, what do we tell them?”

“Everything we can,” Daniel suggested. “But... we’d better ask what they know about humans coming to this world, before we bring up the Stargate. If it’s been five centuries since the Goa’uld ruled this world they might have lost the historical facts. Especially if this has been going on for twenty years.” He blew out a breath. “Keeping up a knowledge base is hard work under good cultural conditions. Add in an ongoing disaster - people running for their lives from nightmares aren’t going to take their libraries. They don’t have _time_.”

Jack grimaced. “We don’t know it’s an _ongoing_ disaster.”

“We do not,” Teal’c agreed. “They have said the Kabane sleep. We do not know for how long. But their use of words is ominous. Stations are not attacked, O’Neill. They are _swallowed_.”

Put that together with two, maybe three groups of refugees - heck, maybe more, they’d have to ask - and the overall picture was just looking worse and worse. “Train’s armored, stations are probably fortified,” Jack stated. “If this mess has been going on twenty years? A hayajiro’s probably the only guaranteed way to get from point A to point B without being munched. Only they get jumped, too. And three groups of refugees on one train....”

Daniel sucked in a breath. “You think something went wrong. Recently.”

“I think we’d better be very careful who we tell we’re not from ‘round here,” Jack said practically. “Because when things go wrong, people look for someone to blame. Anyone to blame.” He tapped his fingers together. “But we’ve got to tell somebody, so... we talk to Kurusu. And his Lady Ayame.” 

“But not Dogen?” Sam gave him a curious look. “You did say he’s likely a VIP, sir. And no offense to our hosts, but based on the numbers of Kabane we saw we’ll probably need an organized expedition to go back to Keishi. With official military forces. And explosives.”

“Could well be,” Jack agreed. “But. Carter. Dogen’s trying to keep a lid on guys like Naokata. Think about trying to tell him we’re from another planet.”

“...See what you mean, sir.” Sam shrugged. “Kurusu’s bushi looked at Teal’c and barely flinched. If we told him we’re aliens - he might think we’re crazy, but he won’t want us dead for it.”

“Not being dead is one of the mission goals,” Jack started.

And stopped, because there was a scent of heaven wafting through the air. Fish, some kind of starchy-sweet that had to be a root vegetable, and who knew what for spices but they smelled nicely tangy.

Lifting the edge of the curtain brought the welcome sight of Kajika and some other women setting down a lidded cauldron in the front of the cart, some kids skipping back and forth to the various older and creakier folks with steaming bowls as the rest of the refugees moved forward in rough lines to get their own.

Kajika turned the works over to the ladies with her, then headed their way with a tray stacked with bowls and a smaller pot. “You just got out of the fight. You must be hungry.” She stepped into their corner, and let the curtain fall before she looked at Teal’c. “Is catfish all right? Do you need anything special? You’re... different, and I’ve heard of people who can’t have fish, which is so weird I couldn’t believe it, except I _know_ Ikoma can’t have anything with mushrooms.”

“I do not require special meals.” Teal’c inclined his head. “You are courteous to ask.”

Yes she was, and that by itself made Jack up _these people are flexible_ another notch. It’d taken some time hanging around a certain archaeologist and bouncing across planets, but Jack figured he’d finally gotten it into his head that it took a certain mindset to figure out other people _weren’t like you_. Not because they were evil, or not human, or what have you. Just because they were different.

One thing to see that in Kurusu’s bushi, who were at the sharp end. If the support personnel were aiming for “whatever works” on top of that... he’d have to check with Daniel later, but he was pretty sure their odds of dealing with Lady Ayame in a civilized fashion had just gotten better.

For now, though, food.

Five bowls dished out, and Kajika wasted no time, lifting one hand formally and muttering some kind of grace before she slurped down part of her own.

_“Ee-ta-da-kee-mas,”_ Daniel sounded out for the rest of the team. Very carefully. ‘Gate translation was a lifesaver when you were trying to talk the latest group of offworld locals out of killing you, but it also did _very weird_ things with ritual phrases. Kind of like blessing someone in Russian. Say the direct interpretation of the words, and you’d probably cursed someone’s hovercraft full of eels. Or worse.

And then for a few minutes it was blowing on hot soup and more slurping, long enough for brain and stomach to get the picture that yes, mealtime, they could _relax_.

“If Kibito says you don’t know anything, where do I start- oh.” Kajika looked up from her bowl. “It’s _not_ a curse. It’s not a spell, the kami don’t have anything to do with it, no one can call down evil spirits and _make_ someone Kabane. It’s a virus.”

Hot soup, mostly clear, with bits of fish, leafy greens, and some kind of small starchy root. A little peppery. Jack wasn’t about to complain. It was hot, protein, and just salty enough for good rehydration given hot summer and combat. The cooks knew what they were doing. “Yeah. We know viruses. Nasty little things you can’t see; not without really special gear, anyway.”

“Oh good.” Kajika’s shoulders slumped a little in pure relief. “You don’t know how many people won’t _listen_ to that....”

No, but the fact she’d led with that nugget of info right off meant _probably most_. On the one hand, Jack couldn’t blame people. The Kabane sure as heck _looked_ supernatural. But on the other hand... people that scared, _“burn the witch!”_ might not be far behind. Steering clear of the Kongokaku was sounding better all the time.

Kajika hadn’t slowed down. “Do you know a lot about viruses?”

“Just what most people where we come from do,” Daniel put in. “We’re not doctors.”

“Oh, I wish we had a doctor.” Kajika took another breath. “I was asking because Ikoma says it’s a virus, but some ways it doesn’t act like a normal virus. You know, like the ones that gives you sniffles, or measles-”

Daniel stiffened. On the floor, Sam straightened. “You have measles?”

“Oh, not on the Koutetsujou,” Kajika assured them. “Have you had them?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Jack said judiciously, thinking of the many, many painful shots he’d endured to travel the world years before he’d seen Janet’s Penlight of Doom. Most of which he’d never needed through the ‘Gate - at least, that he knew of. The Goa’uld had been pretty careful about picking up clean populations of slaves, or somehow getting rid of most diseases after. The Touched virus incident had been a rare and near-fatal instance otherwise, and even that hadn’t been an Earth-native virus.

Tenka had measles. Or at least something his head translated as measles. Add that to _bits Janet is going to want to know_. “So. How’s it different?”

“It’s too fast.” Kajika slurped again. “Even the slow infections don’t take much more than a day. Everything Ikoma could find says most viruses take _days_.” She lowered her bowl. “And it changes the body. The iron cage... that’s what makes them so deadly.”

The team traded looks. “Iron cage?” Sam said carefully.

“That’s what people call it. Though Ikoma says there’s not as much iron in it as people think. Ikoma has a print... maybe he can bring it out later. Let me think-” Kajika stopped, and took a breath. “Right. Start from the beginning. When someone’s bitten, or... anyway, the virus goes after two places. The heart, and the brain. It... kills the person. The body’s still breathing, but they’re gone. And the heart - the heart is what becomes the new Kabane.”

Still breathing meant at least not undead zombies, good- Wait a minute. “The brain’s in the heart?” Jack said incredulously.

“That might not be as weird as it sounds, sir.” Sam frowned. “There are a lot of neurons in the heart.”

“Okay, so, heartshots,” Jack mused. “Aim for the glowing spot?”

Kajika nodded. “But your bullets probably won’t go through the cage. Not unless you can hit the same spot a _lot_. At least three or four times. Mumei can do that, but she’s really good. The armor the Kabane forms around the heart....” She shook her head. “And the worst thing is, with the slow infections, the cage forms before the person dies. That’s why everyone has suicide charges. If you know you’re bitten, or... you see the glow....” Her fingers brushed the white pouch tied at her belt.

Not a limp white pouch, Jack saw. A very carefully shaped cone, with a stitched wide flat bottom meant to be placed against the chest.

_A shaped charge_. Craning his head around the curtain, he glanced at waists. _Holy Hannah_. Everyone’s _got one_.

Sam was staring. Teal’c raised a brow. And Daniel was pale. “You carry... isn’t that dangerous?”

Kajika blinked, then smiled at him. “Oh, don’t worry! We used to make them all the time back in Aragane. Ours are the best. They never go off unless you pull the cord.” Her brows wrinkled. “Though there was that time in Yashiro when Mumei used a few to blow up part of a horde... I think she shot them. She’s a really good shot.”

“We noticed,” Jack said wryly. Which was not what Daniel had been asking at _all_.

_Oh boy. We have a train full of civilians wearing shaped charges who don’t even think of them as weapons. Murphy, whatever I did, I swear I didn’t mean it_.

Placating the universe later. Right now, this was critical info. “So. Takes a point-blank _shaped charge_ to blast the iron cage. Not fair. Not fair at all.” Jack took a deliberate breath. “But you guys got bullets to do it.”

Kajika nodded, setting her empty bowl aside. “Yes, we... well, I don’t know _exactly_ how they work.”

_Houston, we have hedging, this is_ important.

“But if a suicide charge can get through, what we had to do was make a bullet do the same thing,” Kajika went on. “The way Ikoma explained it - part of the steel melts inside? And that pushes everything faster, and makes the rest pierce right through the cage.” One small fist smacked into her palm. “Like a needle!”

_Like a_ \- Jack closed his eyes, running that description through in his head. Glanced at Sam, who looked cold-cocked as if she’d just fit the same pieces together.

The astrophysicist took a few more seconds, probably running calculations in her head versus what they’d seen in the field. “The Munroe effect. Anti-tank rounds?”

“Sounds like HEAT rounds to me,” Jack agreed. “I am impressed. Also terrified, but mostly impressed.”

Yep, Kajika was hiding a proud smile. Lady knew a _lot_ more about these jet bullets than she was letting on.

Which, frankly, fair. She’d just met them, as people who claimed to know absolutely nothing about what had to be the most lethal danger to human life on the planet. And the mood on the train between the various refugee groups was tense. SG-1 couldn’t just claim to be the good guys. They’d have to give it a day or so of showing they were sane before people really opened up.

“Munroe effect?” Daniel traded a glance with Teal’c, who at least had pretty good reasons to be clueless about this area of Tau’ri warfare.

“If you make a hole in an explosive and shape it the right way, you amplify the shock wave,” Sam explained. “Do it with dynamite, for example, you can cut a hole right through something you couldn’t blast apart. But it takes time and calculations to determine what shape the void has to be to focus the explosion. And it takes explosives stronger than gunpowder.”

“Not to mention an engineer - er, steamsmith - with steady hands and a hell of a lot of nerve to put the thing together once you crunch all the numbers,” Jack observed. “Little bit crazy wouldn’t hurt either. High explosives in a _bullet_. Yow.”

And they’d done it with nineteenth-century style tech. Yikes. Not to mention whoever’d designed that so-far one-off steampunk pile-driver of Ikoma’s....

Jack stopped that thought in its tracks, re-ran it, and poked it with extreme prejudice. Steamsmith. Steamsmith crazy enough to use a close-combat weapon on the Kabane, when everyone else save Kurusu was using guns like _sane_ people. A close-combat weapon that looked like something an engineer might use to drive the rivets on the Koutetsujou’s armor, but - if he could believe his own ears and eyes from the blast and sparks - had the same principles as the bullets.

_One of ‘em came from the other. Question is, which one?_

Huh. _Need moar data_ , as some of Sam’s lab buddies would say. But while Kurusu’s guys struck him as having the dial permanently cranked to borderline crazy, they weren’t _nuts_. No way would a responsible 2IC have risked a guy that could design Kabane-killing bullets to rescue perfect strangers. Ikoma hand-building that close-combat monster to deliver engineer cranky unto the endless hordes? That, Jack could buy.

_Hope he’s still alive_. Jack waved his spoon, carefully casual. “Think Ikoma’s coming in for a bite anytime soon?”

Kajika blinked, eyes wide-

“Jack.” Daniel’s elbow jabbed his side. “Could you, you know, just _not?_ ”

Ah. Yeah. Kind of not the best turn of phrase, right now.

“He’ll eat,” Kajika said firmly. “If I have to sit on him and _make_ him. He just got off the sick list this morning!”

Jack tried not to choke on the last of his soup. Because seriously, casualty lists existed for a reason, and he could have sworn Kurusu - or at least Kibito - looked like he had more sense than that.

_Refugees on a shoestring. They’re doing the best they can with what they’ve got. They’ve lost people, and they’re_ exhausted.

Not to mention, Ikoma and Mumei had gotten the job done. Even if he still didn’t know quite how. Nobody human-standard should have been able to make that girl’s jumps, not to mention haul Sam around like she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes....

Jack swallowed the last fishy bit, and smiled wryly. Wouldn’t be the first world _not quite human standard_ had shown up in a Goa’uld’s wake. Put that together with the Kongokaku’s twitchiness, and the Koutetsujou crew obviously protecting a kid too skilled at killing things for her own good - oh yeah. The Kabane might be the least of the weirdness on the planet.

He didn’t _like_ a kid going out against man-eating monsters. But the way she’d looked at Kajika, not asking for a hug, just silently _hoping_ -

And Kajika had just gathered her in, weapons and all, like the best big sister ever. Kind of like Sam and Cassie, if who used the weapons got reversed.

If that was the kind of people this Lady Ayame kept going, then the lady in command was _doing her damn job_. Couldn’t ask for more than that.

_They need help. First, some rest so they can think. Second - Sam needs to talk to their weapons guys, see if we can get some ammo that works_.

And a very close third, the whole team needed more information on the Koutetsujou, how many groups were currently jammed into the cars trying not to kill each other, and just generally what was going on.

_Houston, we need gossip_. “Well, if one of your best rescue guys just got off the sick list, I for one want him to be well-rested before any more trouble shows up,” Jack stated. “Anything we can do to help out? All the stuff we don’t know yet, you probably don’t want us messing with more than the basics - but maybe we can free someone else up?”

Kajika blinked at him. Which was one of the first things that _didn’t_ surprise Jack, armed people in most cultures didn’t usually volunteer for the scutwork. “We should be getting the bushi rotated off-duty soon. Would you mind helping with the soup?”

“No problem,” Jack said easily, eyeing just who was doing most of the bowl-running through the car. “I like kids.”

And apparently Kajika was right about the timing, because that quiet commotion toward the front end of the compartment was Kurusu and Kibito heading toward soup like starving guided missiles.

Kurusu stopped a few yards away, though, looking about the car with that quiet grimness that made every conversation tone down.

The swordsman waited another second, then nodded. “Lady Ayame has consulted with our conductor. We should be stopping for memorial fires within the hour.”

* * *

 

_At least it’s easier to do this when the hayajiro’s stopped_.

Ikoma crouched underneath the third car, glaring up at the tell-tale glow. They didn’t know if one Kabane was enough to draw others; poor Shino’s heart might have called out to a waiting horde, but it could just as well have been the Koutetsujou lingering in the wrong place too long. But having a lone Kabane jammed up in the undercarriage certainly wouldn’t _help_.

Even when it was more like half a Kabane.

_No head. Could be Kurusu, could just be the wheels_....

And no legs, which made this particular Kabane more of a hazard through people panicking than anything else. But it still had fingers that could tear the life out of a man, currently locked onto metal bracing so tightly he’d probably have to break them, and hope it didn’t tear loose armor in the process-

Slowly, gray fingers twitched.

_That’s right; that’s right, you know I’m here, you know I’m the enemy_....

He still wasn’t sure how that could work. Uryuu’s Hunters might swear Kabane targeted Kabaneri first, but why? Kabane were Kabane.

_But I saw it. In Kongokaku. They left helpless prey, to come at me_.

And those bits in his mind when he was half-asleep and dreaming, of Hozumi and his sister and blue butterflies, while passing Kabane roared through the dreamscape in flurries of red-

_Dreams don’t have to make sense_.

Only it might not be just a dream, because Hozumi swore while she’d been the Nue, she’d been buried under a swarm of red butterflies... and seen him come for her as one lone fluttering blue.

_Focus. It’s twitching, it knows I’m close_ -

One arm let go, the other bracing to swing what was left of the body into him hard and fast.

Ikoma dodged, striking out to smash that clinging thumb and let gravity do the rest. The torso tumbled-

He swatted it down, one knee on its back, gripping each wrist in turn to pull around and _yank_.

Kabane weren’t stopped by pain. But there was a limit to how much it could do with dislocated shoulders.

Holding its wrists together, Ikoma ignored twitching fingers and hauled. Taking a second to check that he was still heading toward the _outer_ edge of the curve around the watertower. Most of the Koutetsujou knew he could handle one Kabane, but even Uryuu might yelp if he popped up from under the hayajiro with a bloody torso.

_One wrong eep, and we’ll have a panic. And then people_ will _get killed_.

He waited another moment, listening to make sure the noise of the fire and prayers would covering any small sounds he was making. Gripped hard, in one straight haul _out_.

Sunlight was good. Patchy sun, sure, there seemed to be a lot more clouds coming up; they might get that rain after all. But it was open air, not under immobile steel with lurking death, and breathing felt so much easier.

Holding it down as fingers tried to tear at him, Ikoma positioned the piercing gun.

Footsteps. A faint odd scent, like seawater and something earthy. But a familiar presence beside it, that meant whatever it was wouldn’t _dare_ be a threat. “Ikoma.”

“Kurusu,” Ikoma nodded, and fired. “What?” Good, light properly fading, always better to make sure....

Kabane dead, he looked up. There was Kurusu, eyebrows flicked in that stoic, _good, you’re still alive_. Behind the bushi, looking decidedly less stoic, were the four from Keishi.

O’Neill had a hand to his face, looking remarkably like Sukari after someone had tried to jam the wrong nut and bolt together. “...Of course it wasn’t dead,” he was muttering. “They’re super-strong, super-armored, can infect you without even touching you - of _course_ they don’t die when you kill them. That would be _fair_.”

Idiots or not, Ikoma couldn’t help but smile. Just a little. “I don’t think the Kabane know what fair means.”

“They claim not to have faced Kabane before,” Kurusu stated.

What? _How?_

But Kurusu’s tone was perfectly level. So the swordsman believed them. He might also believe that whatever their story was had to be even stranger than someone getting bitten by Kabane without dying, but he did believe they were telling the truth about that.

“Kajika told them some of the basics, but they would benefit from... a field illustration.”

Ikoma kept his face straight. And people thought Kurusu didn’t have a sense of humor. Besides, they ought to know. “All right.”

O’Neill eyed the body, and waved at Daniel. “Better get this, too.”

Ikoma eyed that odd piece of equipment he’d seen banging on Daniel’s shoulder in Keishi. “What is that? It looks like it has a lens.”

“Um - it’s a way to record images?” Daniel took his eye away from an eyepiece almost like a binoculars’. “So we can have them to look at later.” His voice dropped. “Partly because no one where we come from would believe this without them.”

_Record_ images. Automatically, not by careful drawing or cutting a block print. _I’ve got to get Suzuki to help me figure out how that works!_

Later. When they had the time to take a new mechanism apart. For now... he wanted to see what Daniel’s recording caught later. The whole idea of being able to catch something important here and now-

_Focus_.

“Ah,” O’Neill managed as Ikoma took knife and shears out of his kit. “Shouldn’t you, you know, have gloves...?”

Oh. Right. He’d taken his off to go after the Kabane, knowing he might have to fit his fingers into tight spaces. Hopefully they wouldn’t look at his right hand too hard. It was _almost_ back to normal. “Once the light dies, the blood’s not infectious anymore.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Carter objected, moving reluctantly closer to get a good look. “Kajika said it was a virus. And - well, it just died. It should still be contaminated.”

“If it was a normal virus,” Ikoma agreed. At least she was listening, not screaming or pointing a rifle at him. “But it’s not. Once the blood dries, or that Kabane is dead, it’s safe.” Which was one of many things that did not make sense about Kabane. He was making a list.

“The first is a known part of inspections and cleaning the hayajiro,” Kurusu observed. “The other... should I ask?”

“The other ought to be obvious to anybody who’s _asked a steamsmith_ ,” Ikoma grumped. “We have to clean off the parts, remember? And sometimes they come right through a horde near the walls.”

Kurusu looked at him. Ikoma squinted back.

Daniel was looking between them, eyebrows climbing. “Er... just how did you two meet?”

Ikoma blinked. Glanced at Kurusu, who looked just as subtly confused. Bushi used weapons, steamsmiths maintained weapons, why would someone even ask?

Besides. _I got in the way of an execution and he arrested me_ would just be too confusing to go into right now.

“It would be wise to avoid mentioning this examination in public,” Kurusu stated. “Hearing of it would see you thrown into quarantine by those with no grasp of the realities of Kabane.”

_Not going to snicker_ , Ikoma told himself. Because he’d spotted that little crease between sharp brows, and he could guess Kurusu was grumping yet again over, just how had he gotten out that night?

_Let him wonder_.

But fun later. They probably had a few hours, stopped, but they could never count on that for sure. “All right. Show you as much as I can.” He gripped the coated knife. “When you shoot a Kabane, you’re trying to get through multiple layers of armor.”

Two long, curving slices; cutting just under the collarbone, down along one side of the ribs, across and up again.

Jack let out a huff of breath as Ikoma reached under and peeled up skin and muscle. “That? That is thick.”

“It’ll stop a long-range bullet by itself,” Ikoma agreed. “It takes time to thicken like this, though... I’d say this one’s been a Kabane months, at least. Probably longer.”

And mark down another difference between Kabane and Kabaneri. Hozumi’s skin, and his own, were as easily cut as any human’s. Though they healed much, much faster.

_Thank the kami. I never want to be cut, and not bleed_.

Muscles pulled back to expose what had been a solid mass of ribs, before his piercing gun blasted through, Ikoma pointed out the next problem. “The bones change, too. Over time they fuse together over the heart. And they’re _heavy_. Like all the calcium got replaced with iron.” He glanced at Carter, who seemed the most grimly determined not to look away. “So moats work, and being in the middle of a river is pretty safe. Kabane sink.”

He could still swim. Well, he was pretty sure he had, at least. He’d gotten onto that beach somehow. If he’d sunk like a Kabane, he’d never have surfaced in time to start breathing again.

Lens held steady, Daniel cocked his head to the side, bemused. “If they sink, can’t they just walk on the bottom?”

O’Neill stifled a snicker. “Now who’s watched too many zombie movies?”

“Well, we don’t know they can’t, right?”

“They can’t,” Ikoma stated, after a moment to make sure that _yes_ , they were serious. “They still have to breathe.” He pointed at the half-a-neck. “The airway’s clear, or it wouldn’t have made it this far.”

Kurusu perked up a little. “We could strangle them?”

_Maybe I could. Or Hozumi. Maybe_. “Would you want to try strangling a Kabane?” Ikoma said dryly. “I’d want a cable. And a crane.”

Though that was why he’d built his hanging rig the way he had. Either he’d beat the virus, and release the asphyxiating cable... or the Kabane that had taken him over would die, still bound and harmless. Possibly leaving a live Kabane for Takumi or Kajika to stumble on was _not an option_.

Ikoma cracked his neck, feeling the reassuring pressure of leather and steel. “Now you want to see the real problem.”

Shears out, he snipped through the ribs, lifting the breastbone clear.

_I don’t think ours are this big_....

Black and lava-orange gleamed through pooled blood, the intricate net of the iron cage woven around the Kabane’s enlarged heart.

“It squashes back the lungs,” Ikoma observed, half to himself. “I wonder if that’s why they always sound like-” He had to stop, caught in flashes of night and fire.

_No. Not important now_.

Shears dug into the hole he’d blasted, cutting loose the cage so they could get a good look at how odd the heart was. “Here - the valves and pumping chambers are intact, but the organ’s much thicker on the back. And from there....” He carefully turned the torn heart, so they could see the nest of tendrils and cord leading deeper into the body. This. This was what _hadn’t_ been in all the books and prints he’d been able to scrape together on the Kabane. If he hadn’t had the chance to take apart the Kabane on the Koutetsujou after that disastrous run through the mountains, he still wouldn’t know. “It doesn’t look like a human nerve cord, but I think it’s the Kabane’s nerves. It fans out and runs across the body. The glowing veins? They’re not blood vessels. They’re... this stuff.” He pointed toward a thicker one. “And this one? Goes right back and up the neck, linking into the human nerve cord.”

Carter blew out a breath, as if she wanted to whistle but knew better than to make that much noise. “So... it kills the brain, but it uses the human body’s nervous system?”

“I’m not a doctor. But I think so.” And that was a terrifying thought, knowing the Kabane wasn’t just the heart, it was spread _everywhere_ inside them.

_How do we get it out? How?_

His hands kept working, separating the rest of the iron cage from flesh and rinsing it off. “But this is what stops most bullets.”

“It looks organic,” Carter observed. “Like a honeycomb.”

“It is, mostly,” Ikoma agreed, holding the cage up to catch shreds of sun. “A lot of it’s carbon, I think proteins. Like bones, or seashell. But it’s full of iron and rare earths. I know vanadium’s in there, it reacts like _good_ gears and blades, I’m not sure what else... and _that makes no sense_.”

He was pretty sure he heard an “Eh?” from O’Neill. He didn’t care. Because Carter at least sounded like she had some idea of materials science, and if he didn’t snarl at _someone_ about this he was going to go crazy. Er.

“I’m a steamsmith. Not a doctor. Not a chemist. I know vanadium’s rare, I don’t know how rare in the human body - but I _know_ people don’t have this much iron in them!”

“They drink blood,” Kurusu noted.

“That’s like trying to feed a whole car on one handful of rice,” Ikoma bit out. “Blood has iron. _Not this much_. Where the hell does it come from? Where does the calcium in the bones go? It’s like - like the Kabane pulls it out of thin air, or makes it out of the body and water somehow, and that should be _impossible_. Elements don’t usually change. That’s why they’re elements!”

Carter tensed. “The calcium vanishes?” She glanced at her team. “Um... how much do you know about stars? What they’re made of?”

Stars? What the-?

Kurusu frowned. “Do you refer to some of the astronomers’ works on gaseous elements, and the spectrum of light?”

Oh. _Oh_. Helium and hydrogen and the sun and- Right. “Steamsmith,” Ikoma said flatly. “I _know_ how a McRucky engine works. But that takes a whole reactor core!”

_“What.”_

Those three had to have known each other a while, to hit that same flat tone in unison. Teal’c looked more intrigued than stunned. Huh.

_He’s the off scent. Have to ask Hozumi about that. It’s not Kabane, but what is it?_

Later. The important thing was it wasn’t Kabane, and he had to hit them with facts while they were still listening. “And it takes catalysts. And the heat from a reactor runs a _whole hayajiro_ , if Kabane worked that way they’d blow up when we shot the hearts, and if you _could_ scale a reactor down that much we wouldn’t need fuel for the bikes....”

* * *

 

_Houston, we have engaged Mad Scientist Rant Mode_.

Make that Highly Annoyed Scientist, Jack thought, motioning Daniel to keep recording. Ma’chello had _aced_ the whole Mad Scientist gig.

_Too bad we didn’t get to film that a decapitated Kabane is_ still alive... _why do I have a bad feeling we’ll get another chance?_

Depressing thought. Better to focus on the Annoyed Scientist. Ikoma did it _so well_.

Though really, this was more a Sam-level _the science makes no sense_ rant. Jack folded his arms, bemused, and just listened. It was interesting. And kind of fun, not being the guy in charge of the mad- er, of the highly-annoyedness.

Not to mention SG-1 could use the familiar comfort of _offworld science argh_ , after their sober moments at the memorial fire.

...Which, actually, had been a lot easier to get through than Jack had expected. There hadn’t been much in the way of ceremony. Just laying a fire and lighting it, throwing in slips of paper to burn marked with Tozuka’s name and “for those left unnamed”.

There _was_ plenty of praying. And wailing, and sobbing, and no few people rocking back and forth as far from Kurusu’s brand of stoic as you could get. But the praying was less about gods, Buddha, or what have you, than just fervent wishes for mercy on the souls of the dead. It’d been quiet, and somber, and maybe there was a lot of dust in the air, he had to keep blinking. Something about seeing Kajika and her orphan kids, praying as hard as anyone before they went over to Kibito to give the big guy a hug.

Sam had bitten her lip as the fire leaped up. Teal’c had said nothing, just nodded; the kind of nod that meant this might not be how they did it on Chulak, but the Jaffa thought it was still perfectly appropriate here. While from the way Daniel had looked over the scene, especially who was near which group of refugees and who was specifically avoiding the _really twitchy_ group from car four, he’d been soaking up everything for cultural analysis later. And maybe wistfully considering asking for a paper slip to burn.

Which was right about when Kurusu had showed up with some, and an inkbrush, and the quiet request to pay their respects now, there was something they had to see.

Jack eyed the disassembled monster corpse, and the young man who’d apparently beat back sheer ingrained cultural terror in the name of figuring out how to kill these things, and had to agree. This was worth seeing.

_Like Sam. Only bio-focused_. Jack blinked. _An engineer who taught himself bio, because he had to. That? Is one determined guy_.

Though if this kept up much longer, the guy was likely to start pulling his hair out. And that poor scraggly mess on top of his head really did not need any more abuse. Looked like somebody’d hacked most of it off, and some other poor compassionate soul had grabbed Ikoma and tried to make sense of what was left. Kajika would be his first guess. Anyone who could hug Mumei like that would be the first to have mercy on those unruly locks.

_Why is it green?_

He honestly hadn’t noticed back in Keishi. Zombies, imminent death - all he’d registered was an armed, short guy in red with a case of extreme crankiness. But seriously. _Green_.

The white streak made more sense. Annoyed Scientist. Dealt with Things Man Was Squicked to Know. Of course it’d left a mark.

Looked a little green around the gills, too, and if SG-1 hadn’t made a bad habit of sneaking out of the infirmary when someone needed them he’d be giving Kurusu and everybody what-for, because the guy obviously was not as well as someone back in combat should be.

Though from the careful eye Kurusu was keeping on his resident geek, the swordsman had a pretty good idea Ikoma might be pushing it, and probably planned to shut this down before too much longer. And why not? He’d already gotten what he’d aimed at, dragging SG-1 out to face someone willing to _dissect a Kabane_.

Jack took a glance around at the tall weeds now partly mowed down by the Koutetsujou curling up around this watertower. A protective curl of steel and rifles they were currently on the _outside_ of, while the rest of the passengers finished their prayers at the bonfire inside.

_Right. Took us out here because if the average person thinks Kabane are a curse, they’d probably want to_ burn Ikoma at the stake.

_Oh, and in case we did freak out, Kurusu could dump us in the weeds and look stoically innocent_.

And Jack had absolutely no doubt Kurusu could pull that look off. Guy was a lot more flexible than he would have thought, running into that sharp as a sword attitude. All Jack had to do was catch that bemused twitch as Kurusu kept listening to the science-y rant. The one that said, _don’t you dare think we’re friends, I’d deny it to the bitter end_. With distinct overtones of, _oh god, I’ve listened to the rants long enough I actually_ followed _that_.

_Bet he did follow it_ , Jack thought, glancing at Sam. Who looked stunned; probably fifty-fifty split between _these people have steam tech with fusion!_ and _they have astronomers who know about physics and light spectra_. 

Because no matter what the Pentagon might think, Jack had listened enough to Danny to know the second was more important, long-term. Tech could be moved, traded, reverse-engineered even if you lost the original blueprints. The kind of culture that produced educated, knowledgeable people who knew how to poke the universe with interesting questions? That was a lot tougher to build, and way too easy to destroy.

Though apparently even in the middle of a Kabane apocalypse, some people were smart and stubborn enough to keep asking.

_Focus on that, not the fusion train engine_ , Jack told himself firmly. _We already knew Ma’chello’s notes said there might be an alternative to naquadah. Looks like we found it. Important thing is, here’s a tech who knows how fusion works - knows it in good, practical engineer-type detail - and he picked up and applied that same mindset to figuring out how_ Kabane _work._

“-And if they could _make_ iron from calcium, what are they after blood for-?”

“Ikoma.”

Jack stifled a grin. Apparently _I hear you, but we need to cut the Science short before something tries to eat us again_ , was a universal constant.

“Is there anything else you can learn from this one?”

Now Jack did let his eyebrows rise, because that... that was an interesting balance of tone there. He could catch both _we need to get moving_ and _if this is important, we’ll buy some time_.

Ikoma frowned, then shook his head. “If it were more intact... I don’t know. Maybe. But not from this one.”

Daniel switched off the videocam with a sigh of pure relief. Jack couldn’t blame him.

“Then we should begin loading.” Kurusu glanced at the team, and Jack in specific. “It takes some time if we wish to avoid panic. It’s better to start early, in case that Kabane called others before it died.”

_Urk_.

Oh. Boy. Aaaand super-zombies had just, incredibly, gotten worse. Jack planned to complain about that. Just as soon as he could tell his heart to _calm down already_.

Teal’c stirred from his thoughtful contemplation. “The Kabane can communicate?”

Hands and cage rinsed, Ikoma nudged up his glasses. “The Hunters think it’s kind of like wasps. Maybe they use scents? We’re not sure.”

“But where there is one Kabane, there are soon others,” Kurusu agreed. “Though one more is unlikely to matter. The Koutetsujou is many things, but it is not silent. A local horde will wake from slumber soon enough.”

A local.... Jack traded a glance with Daniel, who might just be too pale to gulp. _I have a bad feeling about this_. “Ah. Come to think of it, you guys never did say how long it’s going to take to get to safe territory.”

“Safe?” Ikoma blinked at him. “We should reach Shitori Station in a few more days, if it’s still there.”

_If_. Oh great. “I mean _safe_ ,” Jack elaborated. “No Kabane.”

Silence. Just the rustle of wind through tall weeds.

Could the hairs on the back of a guy’s neck get tired? Because Jack’s were definitely whimpering.

Daniel wet his lips, gripping a pencil like he wanted to stab it through something. “There has to be somewhere safe, right...?”

Ikoma was looking at them kind of sideways, with the air of, _what is this word_ safe _you speak of?_

Kurusu, of all people, looked almost sympathetic. “There may be somewhere they have not reached in the larger world. We have had no news from Albion for over a decade. But all of Hi-no-Moto outside the walls, belongs to the Kabane.” 

_I should have known,_ Jack thought, too stunned to freak out. _I should have known, when all Kurusu’s guys did was twitch at Teal’c. This planet? Has been so messed up, it’s not even funny_.

And when he got back to the SGC he was so telling George to take _every_ freaking planet Ma’chello had _ever_ dealt with _off_ the contact list. Forever. Finite. End of discussion. Because so far behind Door Number Three, every time a guy thought it couldn’t get worse? _It got worse_.

He took a breath, and proceeded to beat that thought to death with a two-by-four before Murphy could take it as a challenge. Seriously, _the zombies have almost completely won the zpoc_ didn’t _need_ any more escalation.

A shadow passed over the sun, and wet drops started pattering down.

“I swear,” Jack muttered, as Sam and Daniel both glared at him. Traitors. “I swear I wasn’t even _thinking,_ could be worse, could be raining....”

* * *

 

“Sir... do I sound like that?”

Brushing rain off his glasses as they headed back inside the Koutetsujou’s circle, Daniel coughed. Silent and so _obviously_ preoccupied watching their hostile and now low-visibility surroundings, Teal’c was looking the other way, probably anticipating this very ambush. Smart Jaffa.

Jack cleared his throat. Because sometimes, a colonel just had to take the hit. “I plead the Fifth, Carter.”

Sam’s glance at Kurusu told him if the team was alone she might have a few interesting words. Her squint the direction Ikoma had disappeared, and frustrated huff, told him that while the major might still be focused on the life-or-death problem of Kabane, the scientist wanted to ambush a steamsmith, maybe _all_ the steamsmiths, and swear to the general they’d followed her home, could she keep them? Because _fusion engine you could use on a train_. Yowza.

_Kind of wonder what fuels it,_ Jack mused. _Don’t the ones we’ve tried to pull together back home run on... heavy water_....

Jack eyed the watertower with deep, deep suspicion.

_So... either we’re all drinking heavy water, which would be Bad, and the locals don’t look sick, so probably not, or the engine... uses regular water. Whooooo boy_.

Okay, so maybe Sam had a _reason_ to want to gift-wrap a steamsmith.

Though trying to gift-wrap Ikoma seemed like a particularly bad idea. For an engineer, he didn’t seem freaked _at all_ about wandering around zombie-haunted territory. Or at the fact his major offensive weapon worked in part by letting Kabane chew on his armor. Augh.

_Suicidal? Confident? Or cracked and just looks sane?_

Jack didn’t think Kurusu would let someone cracked near his Lady Ayame. Then again... engineer. And obviously competent fighter. The hayajiro needed every last one they had of _both_. Hard to say where practicality would come down.

At least from Sam’s headshake, she wasn’t chasing Ikoma down to talk fusion. Yet. Good. For now, they had to stick to the practicalities.

“I do understand Ikoma’s frustration, sir. From what we know so far, the Kabane _don’t_ make sense.”

Okay, sort-of practicalities. “We’ve seen some pretty freaky stuff, Carter,” Jack reminded her. “I’m betting the virus-that-isn’t has to be one of them.”

“I kind of hope so, sir. I’d hate to think someone who’s risked his life to find this much out was missing something ordinary.” Sam frowned. “Though we don’t know what Ikoma knows. He mentioned doctor, and chemist, not... someone who studies alive things for themselves.”

Jack raised a brow, and saw Daniel glance their way with interest. Aha. Sometimes you could tell a lot by what _didn’t_ translate.

“A natural historian,” Kurusu put in.

“That’s close, but the word we use in our language is _biologist_ ,” Sam said carefully. “They do more experiments. I’d guess Ikoma’s done more observation.”

“No one sane experiments on Kabane,” Kurusu nodded, leading them to the foot of the ladder leading up to the locomotive. “The risks are too great.”

“I can’t think of a way we could do it safely, either,” Sam agreed. “Not to mention ethically.” She frowned. “I was just thinking, what he showed us... he’s an _engineer_. He probably came at the iron cage as a structural problem. Like I’d come at knockback as a physics question. Odds are he knows more anatomy than medicine. So there could be something obvious to a biologist that we’d both miss.”

“Could be,” Jack said skeptically. “Except if this was just regular bio, Carter - way I understand it, life has got some pretty fundamental ways it works. Or doesn’t. Whatever infects somebody to make a Kabane does _not_ run to standard virus specs.”

“So there’s something we don’t know yet,” Sam mused. “We’re going to have to have a longer talk, sir. Maybe neither of us can solve this one, but if we pool what we know we might be able to figure out where what we don’t know _is_.”

“I hoped you’d say that.”

Jack stopped at the foot of the ladder, and looked up at the young lady in rose and pale silks appearing out of the rain beside Kibito’s armored frame. Silk unspotted by rain; there was a slightly older lady in blue behind her, holding an umbrella over them both.

_Someone in charge, and expected to keep her hands free - wait. I know that voice_.

“I am Lady Ayame, heir to the Yomogawa family. I am glad you made it to us alive and well, I thank you for your efforts to defend the Koutetsujou with us, and I offer you safe passage while you are among us.” The girl who’d radioed them to keep fighting stood rail-straight, all smiles, but with a sober look in violet eyes. “Sharing information is important, Colonel O’Neill. Especially against the Kabane. Would you like to come up with me, and talk?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s mistake on Ikoma not being the engineer he’s looking for has a twofold cause. First, assuming Kurusu is a responsible 2IC. Kurusu is a responsible _captain of the guard._ Not the same thing at all. Second... well, Jack has no way of currently knowing Ikoma’s one of the few people who can walk out of a horde in one bleeding piece. 
> 
> Ee-ta-da-kee-mas - itadakimasu, usually subtitled as “Thanks for the food!”
> 
> Yes, a hayajiro in this AU also uses coal. Something has to run the standby power, lights, etc. while they’re bringing the reactor core up.


	5. We're Where?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Info is exchanged, to the headdesking of all parties involved. 
> 
> “What is a _zombiizu?_ ”
> 
> (Jack wishes he'd brought more explosives.)

Jack led SG-1 up into the locomotive behind Lady Ayame, intrigued. Yep, definitely a teenage girl, from the way she moved. But one who carried herself with the kind of confidence he was more used to seeing graduate West Point. Not to mention Kurusu and Kibito were following her lead without so much as a side glance or a suggestive wink. She _was_ their commander. End of story.

Put that together with that little impromptu speech - she’d told them who she was, pumped in a morale boost, and sketched out clear as a bell what she expected of them as yet another set of rescuees. Nice, and even better because every word was true. Young as she was, the lady had been command-trained.

_Now we get to see what she wants from us in specific_. Jack let his brows bounce as they hit inside and went up a set of stairs to what had to be the rear compartment of the locomotive, Kibito and the lady-in-waiting peeling off in the middle of what looked like an improvised sleeping area just long enough so SG-1 could go ahead of them. _Shouldn’t take long. This? Is someone who gets down to business politely_.

Inside was a table, big enough to gather at least a half-dozen people around, and a whole bunch of small compartments in the walls that looked like they were either parts lockers or held various maps. Probably both.

“Wait just a moment.” Ayame inclined her head, and headed back down toward the front of the locomotive, Kibito and the lady heading to some lockers to pull out rolls of paper while Kurusu planted himself at the door behind her like a sharp and pointy wall.

...Which Jack was _not_ going to grump about, even if he had to slap his own mental knuckles with a ruler. The front of the locomotive had to be where the conductor worked, and if any place on this whole Doomtrain _needed_ high security, that was it. There just couldn’t be that many people on this hayajiro who could run the freaking thing. Heck, Jack would rather take his chances landing an alien plane he’d never seen before. A plane you could at least coax out of the sky anywhere. A train had to stick to rails.

Not to mention, if this _Makurakii_ Engine really was fusion-powered, a hayajiro crash could end up being _spectacular_. Real Fourth of July, and not in the fun way.

_“All cars, report in. Is everyone aboard?”_ filtered through the walls; Ayame on the speaking tubes, sounded like.

A few seconds, and what sounded like affirmatives came back. Jack heard Daniel’s sigh of relief, and shared a sympathetic look with Sam. _Darn, he beat us to it_.

Teal’c, was Teal’c. But even the former Jaffa Prime looked like he’d perked up at the prospect of getting under way again. Given, you know, the possibility of incoming Kabane hordes-

Jack thwacked that thought, took a deep breath, and held it for a five-count. Aaaand out.

_They’re super-strong, super-tough, and maybe have a swarm instinct. Right. When the world handed out Nasty they went through the line twice. Maybe more. They are_ not _unkillable. Keep your head, and get your team to do what they do best: talk to the locals, and start picking the experts’ brains_.

Ayame came through the door again, stumbling a little on the threshold. Quick as lightning, Kurusu caught her, setting her back on her feet. 

Jack blinked, as wheels screeched and the pressure of acceleration clamped down; the hayajiro, picking up speed. _Is that a blush?_

Well damn. The samurai ninja was human after all.

Which was nice from both a human kindness point of view - _somebody_ ought to get the fun of young awkwardness - and from the purely practical viewpoint of keeping his team alive. After all, if a guy had time to stutter and trip over his tongue at “ooo pretty girl”, then said guy and those around him had some breathing room.

Given Kibito and the Umbrella Lady were carefully Not Grinning at the cute, and oh-so-definitely Not Winking at each other? Yep. Breathing room. _Good_.

The map Lady Ayame had just accepted from her attendant and spread over the conference table? Maybe not so good.

_Lot of blue, think those are landmasses but they’re weird-shaped, those pretty much have to be islands scattered through oceans with... landmasses on each side. Including one really big one that goes almost to the center line and dips down off the bottom, with part of its coast just missing where the bottom of the map is. And one side of ocean has an island chain that trails off one side of the map, and the_ other _side of the map has a couple of islands that have to be the other end-_

_Oh no. Oh no, don’t tell me_....

“Normally a hayajiro probably wouldn’t carry a map like this at all,” Ayame said cheerfully, “but one of our steamsmiths used to work on a steam freighter.”

Which was the moment Jack decided he was never, ever teaching this young lady poker.

_World map. Who are you, and where do you come from?_

The people of Tenka had mapped their world. Jack eyed the blank spots. Most of it, anyway.

And he couldn’t even try to bluff, because Ayame had her hands folded, not giving clue one where they currently were. On top of that, the darned thing was labeled in two distinct writing systems. One of which had angles that looked sort-of kind-of familiar, and Jack was not at all surprised to see Daniel’s eyes go bright as he studied one of the rare artifacts SG-1 had come across that ought to have _decipherable text_.

“I think the original labels are in a variant of Futhark.” Their linguist touched the map carefully, smoothing out an island that’d gotten a little wrinkled. “And... someone scribbled on it in the local language, it looks like the same symbols as on Mumei’s gun dial and that tract that was supposed to be on berry cultivation someone was reading in our car. Which... oh boy.”

That was not good. That was never good. “Daniel?” Jack said blandly. Because given Ayame and co. probably didn’t call those angled rune-things Futhark, they’d blown any chance of passing themselves off as from one of Tiw’s group of people. Not that he’d planned to, he’d told Danny they should be up-front with Ayame’s people, but it would have been nice to have the _option_.

“Um.” Daniel actually winced. “Well. Modern written Japanese is... _really_ hard to learn, because it originally came from the Chinese system picked up in Korea. Or actually we think from Baekje, one of the ancient kingdoms where Korea currently is, only they got conquered and the Japonic language there got wiped out... anyway, it’s a _problem_ , because Chinese is isolative, and Japanese is a lot more like Indo-European languages, it’s inflected-”

Head. Hurting. Already.

“Chinese doesn’t alter words when it changes verb tenses. English and Japanese both do,” Daniel summed up. _“Write, written. Buy, bought. Drink, drank, drunk.”_

Oookay. “And this is a problem why?” Hey, if their cover was blown, at least Jack wanted to know _why_.

“It’s really hard to write a language that changes up the sounds without changing the _concepts_ in a writing system that doesn’t,” Daniel shrugged. “Modern Japanese is a mess of workarounds going back over thirteen centuries, and reading the ancient stuff is almost impossible without a lot of specialized knowledge.” He took a deep breath. “And it looks like they probably took the original _man’yougana_ in thirteen centuries of another direction.”

Oh.

At least Danny had croggled the locals as much as he’d croggled the team. Kurusu and Kibito in particular had that odd blanch Jack associated with a hapless bystander running into Daniel-rant after already encountering Sam, or vice-versa: _Oh god there are_ two _of them_.

And Jack was going to hold onto that humor, because from what Danny’d just figured out and what he remembered about Futhark from the first time they’d run into the Cimmerians, Tiw and Izanami had been snatching people off Earth no more than thirteen centuries ago. Not that Ra’s original snatch of humans back eight thousand or so years ago was any better, but - knowing it was this close in time ticked him off more, somehow.

Probably because they still had no idea when the Goa’uld had closed down the Antarctic Stargate, or why. And that meant they didn’t know how close the world had come to humans never ruling themselves at all, much less creating a United States of America. The timescales the System Lords worked on... thirteen hundred years was a damn near miss.

Sam was standing half between him and the Tenka map; the scientist thoroughly intrigued by what Daniel’d said, while the major had to know how much this sounded completely crazy to their hosts. Teal’c was calm and still, ready to back whatever move Jack made.

_Here goes everything_. With a mental shrug, Jack faced Ayame. “Where we’re from, is not on that map.”

The two bushi were not _quite_ giving him the evil eye. Ayame frowned, looking down toward that odd polar continent. “I know there are parts of Albion they don’t allow on maps permitted outside the country, for security....”

“We’re not from Albion,” Jack said flatly. “But you knew that already.”

“We did,” Ayame replied, calm and unruffled as Teal’c in a good mood. “This is one of our steamsmiths’ personal maps.”

That yanked Daniel’s attention like she’d hooked him with a line. “You have someone from another nation as a steamsmith here?”

Jack tried not to roll his eyes, because why was that even-?

No. Wait. That actually _was_ pretty important. And snapped right in like a puzzle-piece with the Koutetsujou snatching up refugees, coming to yank them out of a Kabane-infested city, and only blinking at Teal’c, Junior and all.

_You’re alive. You’re not Kabane_.

_Hold out, we’re coming to get you_.

“Suzuki may want to talk to you later.” Ayame studied the linguist. “He says your language sounds _very strange_.” She smiled at Sam. “You’d want to talk to him anyway, if you’re curious about fusion. Makurakii Engines were invented in Albion. I only hope they were as quick to adopt our armoring techniques for their fortresses and... trains.” She glanced at Teal’c, then returned her gaze deliberately to Jack. “My bushi say that you are from far away, and Teal’c is from yet another place, where apparently... something... lives in the stomachs of his folk. If you are not on this map, where are you from?”

Ooookay then. Jack straightened, making sure he looked as serious as he would for any other commander with Need To Know. Because she actually _did_ need to know, or SG-1 was likely to buy it in a painful and ugly way because the locals didn’t know the _team_ didn’t know when to duck. “Don’t suppose your people have any old legends? About Tiw and Izanami and where humans came from before they lived here?”

...Oh boy, he’d seen Kurusu’s look in a mirror. _You cannot seriously believe_ myths _have anything to do with the dangers we are facing in the_ real world.

Kibito cleared his throat, though, thumb scratching at that tuft of beard like he was taking them seriously. Wasn’t sure if he _believed_ them, but taking them seriously. “So... lost your feather-dresses? Because Hi-no-Moto was the wrong place to fall out of Heaven.”

Daniel snorted with laughter, waving at Sam before she could make more than vague _strangling you for the pickup line_ twitches. “Sounds like you do have some of the same folklore. No, we’re not supernatural. But we _are_ from another world. Another planet.”

“From what astronomers have seen, no other worlds around this sun could have life,” Kurusu objected.

At least that wasn’t _you’re crazy_ , Jack reflected.

“Our world isn’t around this sun,” Daniel said quietly. “Neither is Teal’c’s. His world, Chulak, is as far from ours as it is from yours. Our worlds have other stars as their sun. We’re from very, very far away.”

If not for the hayajiro’s rattle, you could have heard a pin drop.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Daniel went on. “We didn’t want to believe it on our world, when we found out what happened... but then we got proof the hard way.”

Which had the immediate, focused attention of every local. Jack was not the least bit surprised. These people had apparently survived twenty years of Kabane. They had a context for “hard way” most people on Earth wouldn’t get unless they’d been dropped in a warzone.

“A long time ago, we think about eight thousand years, beings from another world found Earth. Our world,” Daniel clarified. “They studied us, and human myths, and decided they could use them. Pretend to be gods, to take humans as slaves. With the technology they had - ships that could travel space, weapons that could kill without a touch, chemicals that could break minds and wills - our ancestors thought they _were_ gods. Until Ra finally went too far, and we rebelled.” Blue eyes hardened behind glass. “We call them the Goa’uld.”

Not a flicker of recognition, Jack noted. But they were at least listening.

“Our ancestors buried the Stargate on Earth. Covered it over and forgot about it,” Daniel said ruefully. “But the Goa’uld live a long, long time. They’re still out there, ruling over countless planets of humans descended from those kidnapped people. They want to take Earth back - to have us all as slaves, and worse.” He waved at the team. “We’ve been going to other worlds, meeting other groups of humans, to try and find help against the Goa’uld. And to help them, if we can. That’s why we were in Keishi. It’s where the Goa’uld came to this world, centuries ago. We knew the Goa’uld who’d ruled here were gone, Teal’c said they disappeared about five centuries ago or so, so we hoped this was an independent planet. We never expected to find... well. This.”

Silence. Ayame’s maid was all but trying to make herself invisible against the wall, blinking.

Ayame glanced at her two bushi, who did not look at all happy, then met Jack’s gaze directly. “You claim to be from another planet. Another living world.”

“Crazy, but true,” Jack agreed.

“And that there is another species - an _alien_ species - with technology more advanced than either of our worlds, that wants to enslave us all.” Ayame straightened. “If that’s true, why aren’t they here?”

Jack glanced at Teal’c.

The Jaffa inclined his head. “The rivalry between Tiw and Izanami was long and bitter. Many snares and traps were set for each System Lord’s forces by their opponent. When last I heard word of this planet, it was one of a list of those considered potentially hazardous. Most System Lords will not waste the Jaffa to conquer a world with unknown hazards while richer planets are ready to be taken.” He paused. “If they should learn of your level of technology, it is likely they will invade. The System Lords already have the Tau’ri as one thorn in their sides. They will not wish to see another human world rise against them.”

Kurusu’s eyes narrowed. “You served these... Goa’uld.”

Oh boy. Jack kept himself from visibly tensing. All they’d seen of this culture so far implied people had very personal loyalty ties. A traitor, even for a good reason, would be bad news.

“Three years ago, I was in service to the false god Apophis,” Teal’c said gravely. “I knew the Goa’uld were not gods, but I saw no way to fight openly against them and survive. Until Colonel O’Neill’s team came from the first world, and brought with them the chance to win freedom for all our peoples.”

Kurusu didn’t relax. But Ayame looked thoughtful. “You might wish to speak to Hunter Uryuu, Teal’c. His people know something about finding yourself on the wrong side, and having to... decide.”

Jack let his eyebrows bounce, because oh. Oh my, that was an _interesting_ bit she’d just deliberately let drop.

_Uryuu’s Hunters aren’t just one more bunch of refugees. They were on a whole other factional side. A hostile one_.

And yet they were here on this hayajiro, working with Kurusu’s people. And the Aragane bushi trusted _them_ more than they trusted the Kongokaku. Interesting. In the classic old Chinese curse sense.

Not to mention from the way Daniel’s eyes had widened, then glanced at the map again, this was maybe even more interesting than Ayame’s people willingly working with former mortal enemies.

_The map. What is it about a two-language- Oh_.

Two languages. One of them from old Anglo-Saxon-ish types. And one of the discussions he’d got into with Daniel and Teal’c about forgiveness and the SGC trusting someone who had been Earth’s enemy was the whole, where did forgiveness even come from as a concept, and how was it a legit tactical military advantage?

Because while a lot of modern cultures on Earth might give lip service to forgiving your enemy and letting him live, and pat themselves on the back for being so _modern_ , the roots of forgiveness were much, much older. Some military scholars argued the whole concept of _forgive your enemy and take him as one of your own_ had been one of the things that let the Proto-Indo-Europeans spread out and swarm over places, cultures, and ways of living that’d been completely different from nomadic steppe horse-riders.

According to Daniel, absorbing other populations without _killing them all_ was actually a thing most civilizations figured out once they hit a certain size. Including, if Jack recalled their briefing on Tenka right, the various tribes that’d gotten lumped under Anglo-Saxon, who’d managed to swing taking in British Romans to the point King Arthur was considered thoroughly English, _and_ ancient Japan, where taking in your noble enemy’s kids as your own heirs was a thing that happened, historically, and usually with pretty good results.

_So did they get that trick from Albion, or come up with it home-grown?_

Either way, Ayame’s people could forgive their enemies. Could _trust_ them. Which gave them a point in common with SG-1 on how civilized people operated; meaning the team, and eventually the SGC, could probably trust them.

And that was oh so much better than the alternative, because Daniel had quoted him stats on how cultures had lived before that little trick. On how one of the most common causes of Stone Age death apparently wasn’t just disease or animal attack, but _other people_. Typical operation being a dawn raid that swept down and killed everybody from another group - or, if someone was _very_ lucky, just killed the men, and took the women and children as slaves.

Not that different from how the Goa’uld operated, come to think.

“Aliens from another world.” Kibito shook his head. “I’d swear you broke into Suzuki’s _miido_ , but last time I checked it still needed a week to finish brewing. Which is too bad. Right now, I could use a drink.”

Kurusu nodded in reluctant agreement. Ayame glanced between them, and gave them a quiet smile. “You’re too late. I already asked him to let me try it first.”

Daniel eyed them, and Jack. “You believe us?”

Ayame frowned. Kibito shook his head; not a _no_ , Jack thought, more a _why me?_

But it was Kurusu who sighed, and looked over them all. “Let us say, we do not _disbelieve_ you. We have seen a great many things in the past month that were,” he hesitated, “either known to very few, or not supposed to exist at all before we encountered them.” His shoulders shifted slightly; one of the most controlled shrugs Jack had seen yet. “How likely is it these Goa’uld will arrive soon? What should we watch for?”

_One month, huh? So something_ did _go sideways._

And now they had a timeline to start poking exactly what. Later. Right now - direct and to the point deserved direct right back. “Well, if you see this big golden pyramid thingie descending from the sky, you got problems.” Jack shrugged. “Honestly? If they haven’t shown up by now, they _probably_ won’t show up next week. And maybe not ever. They’ve got probes - technology that can check out a world without a person attached - and if they picked up any trace of the Kabane virus, they’d probably write this place off as not worth the trouble.” He mentally chewed his lip, then sighed. They deserved the truth. “But if there’s one thing the Goa’uld have in spades, it’s ego. They think they’re immune to darn near everything. Even if they knew about the Kabane, they might think they could conquer you guys. So. Big pyramid ship, problems. But they _might_ be more subtle. Maybe.” He waved at his team. “Lady and gentlemen, let’s give ‘em Goa’uld-spotting 101.”

* * *

 

One good thing about his team having butted heads with the System Lords for the past three years, Jack reflected. By this time they could give a basic rundown of Goa’uld Flashy Eyes, Voice, Tech, and Tactics in ten minutes or less. By now he was pretty sure Lady Ayame’s people appreciated clear and concise info on potential enemies.

Though knowing they had even more enemies than they’d _ever imagined_ did not make for very happy zpoc survivors. Kurusu had a crease between his brows, Ayame was sitting very straight and sober, and Kibito was openly rubbing at a headache. “So... their eyes glow, but it’s a white-gold, not magma like the Kabane. And not all the time.” Kibito shook his head. “Why?”

“You know, we’re really not sure?” Sam admitted. “We haven’t been able to hold that many Goa’uld, and... it wouldn’t be ethical to experiment. Except for a few cases like Hathor, the host is a _hostage_.”

“Cowards,” Kurusu declared.

“Very well armed and high tech cowards,” Jack said flatly. “They’d swat both our planets like bugs and not give it a second thought. If you end up fighting them, you have to fight hard, and you have to fight _smart_.”

One sword-sharp brow went up. “Did you?”

Jack mostly hid a cough behind his hand, as Daniel looked away, whistling. “Noooot so much, to start,” Jack admitted. “We got Ra. By the skin of our teeth, but we did. Goa’uld gone, problem solved. Only we didn’t know there were more of them.”

“It was five-thousand-year-old writing and the language plurals changed over time,” Daniel grumped.

“Like I said,” Jack shrugged. “We found out otherwise about two years later. Cost us a lot of lives. So now we’re out poking around the universe, trying to find a way to protect our world before some System Lord decides to move in and take over. If they did-” Jack grimaced. This was a bitter pill for any soldier. “We’d fight, and we’d fight hard. But we couldn’t stop them. When our ancestors kicked the Goa’uld off Earth, ha’taks took years to fly between worlds. Once Ra lost his grip, it just wasn’t worth their time to come over and get us. Now they’ve got better engines. They can do it in weeks.”

Kurusu glanced at the Tenka world map, then at his lady. “As the difference from sail to steam. Shorten the supply routes, ease the logistics, and nations previously not worth the effort become ripe for conquest.”

Damn. Jack wished he could bundle these folks up and take them home. Better yet, turn them loose on a few members of Congress. These guys _got it_.

“And there’s nothing we can do to stop them. Yet.” Ayame drew in a deliberately slow breath; let it out just as slow. “Colonel O’Neill. Thank you for this information.” Violet eyes were shadowed. “If circumstances were otherwise I would want you to tell everyone on the Koutetsujou. But....”

“The Kabane pretty much have everybody’s worry-meter maxed out,” Jack said practically. “Right. Need to know sucks sometimes.”

The way Daniel twitched, if the team had been alone the linguist would have his arms wrapped around himself against the chill of reality. “But they should know.”

Jack sighed. Because Daniel wasn’t all wrong. “Yeah, in a perfect world, they should. In a better world, we’d tell them. If the Goa’uld drop out of the sky, we’ll definitely tell them. But,” he waved a cautionary finger, “not now. We can live knowing there are world-ending evil aliens lurking out there, because _we’re_ out there planet-hopping and blowing stuff up to stop them. People stuck on this world, who’d have to sit, wait, and hope somebody else can fix the problem before we all die horribly? Nothing kills morale faster. And it’s not jet bullets or armor plate keeping people alive on this hayajiro, Danny. It’s hope.” He slid a wry look toward Kurusu. “Though the bullets sure _help_.”

And Jack kept his wry look by sheer force of will, because damn, Kurusu might be younger than he looked, that poker face had deliberately _not twitched_.

_Kurusu here, and Kajika hedged too. What’s so special about these jet bullets? Besides the fact that they_ work.

Which, come to think, was strange right there. Didn’t matter how many millions of Kabane were swarming out there. Give determined fighters a fortified position and enough ammo, a year or so should start whittling them down.

_Key phrase there being “enough ammo”_ , Jack thought soberly. _Black powder, holed up in forts - saltpeter’s got to be damn short. We’d better ask about that, too. Sam might have ideas_.

He darn well hoped Sam did. Kurusu was young and crazy enough to get away with making like a samurai ninja. His knees weren’t going to stand for that.

“Too much hope is more dangerous than none at all, Daniel Jackson.” Ayame stood, sober as a judge. “If you truly come from a place without Kabane....” For a moment her real age showed, as she almost bit her lip. “Colonel O’Neill. I wish I could ask you for sanctuary for my people. They’ve lost so much. But if it became known that there is a place free of Kabane, anywhere, no matter how deadly the danger would be to any even trying to reach it....”

Jack didn’t hide his wince. “You’d have a mob.”

“Worse.” Kurusu’s face was stone. “Some, the wiser ones, would kill you for lying; for where in the world could be free of that peril, if even the shogun’s law did not stop the hordes? Some of them would kill you because if you are free of the Kabane, the only explanation is that you must have brought the curse in the first place.” Blue eyes darkened. “And some who learned the truth would kill us all out of spite.”

“Because if we’ve got a sanctuary, we must be greedy little bastards hoarding it for ourselves,” Jack concluded, “and if you knew about it and didn’t tell them, hey, you must be getting it too. Ouch.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to ward off the worst of the oncoming headache. “People. Can’t live with ‘em, can’t shoot them all.”

Kurusu’s lips twitched. Just a little. Hah, there was a sense of humor under all the stoic honor. 

Still eyeing the map with a linguist’s avarice of _want my own copy_ , Daniel sighed. “Jack....”

Ayame stood, taking one dainty step that oh-so-coincidentally cleared the way for her maid to snatch the map away from grabby fingers if needed. Jack saw it, knew Ayame saw he saw it, and deliberately didn’t do more than raise an eyebrow.

_You don’t trust us with stuff you can’t replace. In your shoes, I wouldn’t either_.

And Jack just knew Daniel was adding that to the list of cultural observations, while maybe not getting that this wasn’t really culture at all. More, responsible leader who had to deal with those shell-shocked idiots Dogen was trying to keep tamped down. Even worked up as Naokata was, it was a lot harder to kill another human being than to oh, set a map of the cruel and heartless world on _fire_.

Which had Jack’s traitor imagination painting horrors of what it must have been like, snatching people out of the hordes that’d destroyed Kongokaku. Fighting your way free of imminent death... people could get ugly. 

“I wish he were wrong, Daniel Jackson.” Ayame was still, calm as if they hadn’t traded veiled threats with just a look. “But my father taught me that while you can argue with one man, or a few, or even sway a mob if you are fortunate - you cannot argue with everyone and change all minds.” She looked over the team, gaze picking out symbols, weapons, everything that made SG-1 different from everyone else taking shelter in moving steel. “And it would only take one breach of quarantine to infect your world. Can you risk that? The chance of dooming thousands, possibly millions of your own people, if even one person conceals an infection to go to your safe haven?”

Shoulders back, Daniel drew a deep breath; blue eyes steely behind glass as he prepared to do verbal battle for compassion, decency, and humanity everywhere-

Glanced at the Tenka world map, so like and unlike Earth. And winced.

Sam moved to stand beside him, almost stumbling as the locomotive rattled a little harder than usual. “I couldn’t either,” she admitted. “When I stayed with Cassie - that was my life. The program could go on. The planet would go on. If this virus got out of the Mountain....”

Okay, enough gloom and doom. “I hear the Army’s got a zpoc plan,” Jack mused. “It can’t be perfect, they didn’t ask the Air Force in on it. But they didn’t bring in the Marines either, so we know it’s got to be better than _blow everything up and call it a day_.”

Sam slid him a wry look. “Did they upgrade the plan for bullet-resistant zombies, sir?”

“Now that might be a problem,” Jack acknowledged. “Could be we’ll have to add a lot more C-4 to the supply list. But hey, if Ikoma’s right and they’re not infectious after they’re dead, blowing them up is actually an _option_.”

Oh goodie, he had all their hosts’ attention. “This _shiforu_ is an explosive?” Kibito perked up. “Ikoma’s going to love that.”

And Kurusu was back to the deadpan. “Explosions should be aimed away from the hayajiro.”

“Don’t be so gloomy.” Ayame’s eyes danced. “Ikoma hasn’t blown up anything we didn’t _want_ blown up.”

The way Kurusu’s eyes slitted, Sword Guy was remembering a particularly handy explosion. “True.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “So... not just Kabane. Ikoma’s your go-booms guy?” Engineer, anatomist, explosives expert. Surprisingly well-rounded guy for an Annoyed Science type. Sure, Sam and Daniel were that handy at odd things, but his team was _good_.

“Steamsmiths build and repair things,” Kibito said practically. “Cross them, they know how to take things apart, too.” He folded his arms with a toothy grin. “Ikoma’s just a little less _neat_ about it.”

_Daniel’s right,_ Jack decided. _We really need to know how these guys met Short and Cranky_.

Though finding out might be tricky. Kurusu had dodged the question entirely - and the way Ikoma hadn’t even blinked when Jack had asked earlier, that was _normal_.

Which, given ongoing Kabane swarms and swallowed stations, made too damn much sense. The whole culture had been dealing with massively traumatized survivors for _twenty years_. Jack would just bet “don’t ask strangers about their past” was a given by now.

Ayame’s gaze rested on his again, with a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile. “If it’s convenient, Colonel O’Neill, we would wish to learn more of these Goa’uld, and how to fight them. But until we all decide exactly what we will do... we must keep any hint of a place without Kabane silent as the grave.”

Kurusu nodded. “I have already ordered silence from our bushi. And requested it of Uryuu.” He turned all that sharp calm on Sam. “What is a _zombiizu?_ ”

Their hapless astrophysicist didn’t quite flail. “Um, that’s... kind of hard to explain?” No fool, Sam cast a look of _ack culture stuff!_ at Daniel.

Jack hid a smirk, letting his team handle this while he considered that very deliberate deflection from Kurusu and Lady Ayame. Looked like both of them wanted to keep their multitalented steamsmith away from military types with grabby hands. Huh.

Though if Ayame’s dainty shoe was on his foot, Jack would be the first to slap twitchy outsider fingers with _no touchie_. A good guy with a wrench and explosives was worth his weight in gold to any commander; way more than that to a leader currently scraping her people out of the next crisis by the skin of their teeth.

Not to mention, Ikoma, Mumei, and Kurusu had somehow improvised themselves into the Koutetsujou’s shock infantry team. People who could do that to the Kabane had to be scarcer than hen’s teeth. _Huh_.

Which implied whatever Mumei’s most likely snake-science-caused deal was, Ikoma probably knew about that, too-

Uh-oh. That sidelong look? That was Daniel about to poke a mostly innocent colonel.

“It’s a story on our world. Just a story.” Daniel’s mouth pursed like he’d bitten a lemon. “Though given some of the same elements turn up in the stories of Izanami and Ereshkigal... zombies are supposed to be dead bodies that rise up to attack the living.”

“A corpse that doesn’t stay down,” Kibito muttered. “But yours are just stories?”

“We’ve been lucky,” Daniel agreed. With a glint of mischief in blue eyes. “The important thing is, in some of the modern versions of those stories, you kill them permanently by destroying the brain. So when we saw the horde closing in....”

Okay, okay, he _did_ have that one coming. Jack shrugged. “Oops?”

Kibito’s eyes crinkled, like he was trying not to chuckle. “You tried to headshot a Kabane?”

“What can I say? It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Jack cleared his throat. Fun was fun, but they needed some practical info. “So. On the whole keeping people calm and not panicking front... what’s up with Elder Dogen’s bunch? Exactly who are these Kongokaku, and why are they so,” he eyed Kurusu, “brittle?”

Ayame took a deep breath, obviously steeling herself.

_Uh-oh. This is going to be bad_.

“Kongokaku was the shogun’s capital, the seat of power of our nation,” Ayame said simply. “For twenty years it withstood the hordes, and its inhabitants believed it could not fall.” She paused, as if the next words were physically painful. “But defenses meant to stop the Kabane could not hold against human betrayal. The shogun’s son, Biba Amatori - he was at war with the shogun, though my people did not know that until it was too late. We think he went mad. He arranged to be captured, and brought into the shogun’s presence. Then he unleashed the infection, and destroyed Kongokaku.”

_Aaaand it’s worse... wait._ “You seriously think that’s what happened?” Jack said skeptically. “You’ve had Kabane gnawing at your doors twenty years; you think anyone would deliberately let that virus loose? I mean, Naokata’s throwing _you brought the Kabane_ around, but you guys look like you’ve got more sense.”

Teal’c shifted broad shoulders, breaking his statue stillness. “There is also the matter of how such an outbreak could occur. Ikoma states that the blood of a dead Kabane is no threat.”

Kurusu’s eyes narrowed, but Ayame never wavered. “The blood of a dead Kabane, no. The blood of a live one is another matter. My uncle and I were in the shogun’s audience chamber when Biba infected the shogun, then declared there were Kabane hidden among the crowd, prepared to turn. The ensuing panic was... predictable. And lethal.”

“Your uncle?” Daniel’s downcast eyes were all the sympathy in the world. Which Jack approved of, because this had to be painful. Family mattered across the galaxy and obviously the guy wasn’t _here_ -

“Elder Dogen Makino,” Ayame said precisely. “He was among the shogun’s council. Now he has taken into his care very lost, very frightened people who in a few short hours went from believing their homes and lives pure and safe, to the certainty that anyone could become Kabane, at any moment.” She shook her head slowly. “I do not envy my uncle. That he has kept the survivors this calm these past few days, when the realities of the rails mean we cannot even give them a specific arrival time at a station, is nothing short of a miracle.”

Years of training and experience, and Jack still had to at least _blink_ in a double-take. So the guy Kurusu was willing to throw off the train, or at least skewer, to keep the survivors he and Kibito were responsible for in one piece... was Lady Ayame’s _uncle_. Oh. Joy.

_Okay subject change go_ , Jack decided. “About both of us deciding what to do about mutual travel arrangements - we’re going to need to know everything you know about the Kabane, especially the incubation period.” Wait a breath, from what Kajika had and hadn’t said this might be tricky to bring up. “We really need to know what your doctors think.”

“A doctor?” Ayame winced, shoulders dropping in sadness. “We have some pharmacists, and those who know how to treat wounds... but none of our doctors survived the fall of Aragane. There may be one in Shitori.”

No doctor. A train full of refugees who had to deal with injury and blood and possible zombie infections, and no doctor. Damn. “Then until we get there, we need to talk to Ikoma,” Jack said practically. Eyed Kurusu, and then Sam. “I think someone mentioned seeing if we could finagle working ammo.”

No fool, Sam unholstered her Beretta instead of her MP5. There was being allowed to carry your weapons near a foreign dignitary because everyone _needed_ them, and then there was being stupid.

Somehow, Jack was not at all surprised that Ayame took the gun with all due precautions, muzzle never pointing toward a person or anything that might be a critical steam pipe. The young lady looked it over from butt to sights, paying particular attention to the slide. “This is a gunpowder gun, yes?”

“Yes, and no,” Kurusu stated. “The powder is almost smokeless, and the scent is wrong.” He glanced at Jack. “I would feel more confident if our steamsmiths could analyze it.”

_Oh, I just bet_. Though given the circumstances, Jack was not about to quibble with the locals learning how to make smokeless powder. They could use it.

“This... doesn’t look like something one of our steamsmiths would construct.” Ayame frowned, finger touching the slide. “This part moves forward and back, yes?”

“It would be dangerous,” Kurusu nodded. “Even with a gloved hand.”

“Slide bite?” Sam offered. “Yes, that happens if you end up holding it wrong, but if you’re in a firefight losing a little skin is usually the least of your problems....”

She trailed off, horrified. Hell, Jack was horrified. Because yeah, torn skin on Earth could be trouble, even life-threatening depending on what bugs the bad guys might be carrying. Torn skin with bleeding Kabane?

_Oh hell. We came so close to killing_ ourselves _in the sortie car. And we didn’t even know it_.

Kurusu frowned as Sam reclaimed her Beretta - much more gingerly than the experienced major would have normally handled a firearm. “I suggest you engage only at long range. Close combat with the Kabane requires trained skill.”

“And maybe a touch of crazy,” Kibito mused. “Good thing the Katsuragi clan is just a little bit wild.”

Now _that_ was an interesting bit of byplay, Jack thought, watching faces. Kibito had picked up the butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, while Ayame covered a giggle and Kurusu’s flat gaze promised _revenge when you least expect it_.

Probably nonfatal revenge. Likely not even light maiming. But that had been a clear if playful poke at Kurusu’s family dignity, which he was... tolerating. Huh.

_Wonder if Danny has a better read on why. Could just be good friends, but something’s odd here_.

“Ikoma and Suzuki will look at your rifles later, when they have some time,” Kibito went on. “They have the most experience with jet bullets.”

“When they have some time?” Jack raised his eyebrows; tone polite, but he was sure _what the hell’s more important than us being armed?_ came through. “What are they doing?”

“Steamsmiths? What aren’t they doing?” Kibito ticked off tasks on his fingers. “Maintenance on the hayajiro, the rifles, the backpack engines, Suzuki’s ice machine and the steam vents running the kitchen. Making more ammo. Not to mention Mumei’s guns need their own check-over, and Eishun might want a second opinion on the bikes.” He shrugged. “There’s probably a half-dozen things I don’t know that they need to get to. Everybody’s doing what they can, bushi know most rifle maintenance, but when it comes to hayajiro most of us have had to learn on the tracks. They’re _busy_.”

“Though right now,” Kurusu said quietly, “I suspect Ikoma is tending something more important than gears.”

Ayame blinked. “He’s checking the quarantine car.” From her tone, it was only half a surprise.

Kurusu nodded. “Keisuke knows if he turns, Ikoma will ensure he harms no one.”

Jack tried not to sigh, catching Daniel’s wince and the rare sight of Teal’c sharing a sympathetic glance with Sam. _And when that’s your idea of a critical morale boost, things have gone to Murphy in a handbasket_.

* * *

 

There wasn’t a lot of room to spare, between the crates already loaded in the old freight car and everything the salvage parties had jammed in on top before they’d fled Keishi. But given almost everybody who’d loaded the salvage had also survived the mountain battle with the Kabane, there was a clear if winding path from the front to the back of the car. Enough room to get together next to Keisuke by one small but interesting-looking crate with a pair of crowbars.

_Wish it had a label_. Ikoma frowned at the fragile scraps of paper and half-faded stamp on one end of the crate. _I think it did, before we moved it. Who knows where it got to?_

Planting the sharp tip just under the lid at one end, Ikoma waited for Keisuke’s nod at the other. “And one, two-”

The pull on _three_ was a screech of rusty nails in dry wood, echoing in a way that made Ikoma’s ears itch.

_Sounds like I can hear every raindrop. Like the walls aren’t thick enough.... Oh. Right. The armor_ isn’t _thick enough_.

At least it had some armor. He’d seen blueprints of pre-Kabane train cars; some of the same designs, with smaller cars, were used inside station walls to this day. But the walls of this car were at least three layers thick, not the simple sheet steel of an unarmored car.

_That’s weird. If it was made before the Kabane swallowed Keishi, and after the old wars between lords Kurusu and Kibito say the shogun stopped, why does it have_ any _armor?_

He’d have to ask the bushi if they had any ideas. Even if this car had been built for Keishi specifically, it didn’t seem likely someone could have had it built in response to rumors of Kabane. The hordes spread too fast.

Just off to the side and behind Keisuke, a solid Aragane townswoman in dark blue gripped her inventory notes and shook her head, shaking off any wince at the noise. Chie had been determined enough to pick up rifle training and unlucky enough to bark her knuckles on one of the firing ports when a Kabane got grabby. Though at least she’d had the good sense to _let go_ of her rifle, losing the weapon, rather than get her arm dragged into fang range.

_Better to lose one rifle than have someone bitten... we need to keep that from happening_. Ikoma frowned, picturing the steam rifles, the firing ports, and the need to have weapons as free of obstructions as possible for close-quarters fighting. _Maybe something like a bayonet? Not a permanent fixture, but something we can attach to rifles for people defending from the inside?_

The rattle of brass hitting steel yanked his thoughts away from possible designs. Ikoma tried not to react, even as nerves rubbed raw by too many Kabane attacks and no few of Hozumi’s instructive poundings yammered that _something’s sneaking up, flatten it!_

Because it wasn’t someone trying to sneak up on him. Just the balding Kongokaku man under quarantine, Hidemi, shivering at being surrounded by contamination even as he tried to poke into every corner for loose valuables.

Where he thought he’d get with them, Ikoma had no idea. Matsuhide was outside the car door in the connecting passageway, other Hunters would rotate through when he needed a break, and Ikoma would just bet the Hunters had done enough of their own salvaging to know how much the Koutetsujou would need every last tradeable piece for resupply.

Keisuke and Chie were both frowning Hidemi’s way. Ikoma caught their gaze, and shook his head.

Chie gripped her notes a little tighter. Keisuke leaned in. “You know he’s....”

“I know he’s scared to death, and scared of us, and scared of what everyone else from Kongokaku will do to him if he’s _not_ infected,” Ikoma replied, just as quiet. “He won’t get out of the car with it. Might as well let him take things if it keeps him calm.”

The way Chie had her head tilted, she was listening in. Good.

Keisuke frowned. “You sound like you’ve seen this before.”

“Not _this_ , but - everyone who loses their station goes a little crazy for a while.” Ikoma refused to wince. Kajika knew this. Probably Kurusu did too. It wouldn’t hurt for the rest of the bushi to know. It wouldn’t. “I didn’t grow up in Aragane.”

Keisuke’s eyes narrowed. He glanced at Hidemi again, then visibly bit back any orders to _put that back_. No surprise; blatant lawbreaking didn’t sit well with any bushi. Ikoma wasn’t happy with it himself, no matter how many times he’d technically breached quarantine with his specimens. Picking up something no one else wanted for his experiments was a far cry from taking trade goods people might need.

But he remembered what it’d been like the first time he’d waited in quarantine; terrified and heartsick, head pounding too hard to keep anything but water down. The world had ended, his sister was gone, and he was still breathing. He didn’t know who Hidemi had lost, but the odds were better than average that the answer was _everyone_.

“Insane,” came the low mutter from Hidemi’s corner, almost too low to hear. “Bring the curse with them to shatter one city, that wasn’t enough; no, they’ll get us all killed going through the Kabane again, and again-!”

Besides, as long as Hidemi was prying at things he wasn’t talking. Much.

Finally looking away, Keisuke reached down and finished prying up time-dried wood, lifting a sheet of oiled paper that had sealed the freight. What was under it had a dull shimmer, almost like-

_No, it is!_

Coils of very thin steel wire, nestled in several layers to pack the box as efficiently as possible. He hadn’t seen bundles like these since the last time Kajika had dragged the three of them out for an evening of listening to a koto player.

_I bet they are koto strings. Keishi was supposed to be_ cultured.

At least that was what information he’d found on the early outbreaks had implied. Actors and musicians had been some of the first to bolt from the doomed city, scattering like leaves before the first downdraft of a typhoon.

_Some of those leaves survived. Without them, people might not have known enough to start closing the station gates. Not in time_.

Keisuke’s shoulders slumped. “Damn it.”

Reaching out to touch oiled steel, Ikoma frowned. “What’s wrong?”  

“What’s-?” Keisuke sighed. “Instrument strings? I know it’s crazy, but I was hoping for something a little more....” He waved a frustrated hand. “You know. Armor, lead for bullets, _something_.”  

Brush marking down _musical instrument strings_ , Chie nodded, echoing his sigh.

Ikoma stared at both of them. _They can’t mean - can’t they see?_

A townswoman and a bushi. People who used machinery, and maintained it, but didn’t _build_ it. Not the way steamsmiths did, taking mechanisms from the first rough scratch drawings to choosing molds, forming tools, and alloys. They probably _couldn’t_ see it.

Deliberately, he tapped the uppermost coil of wires. “Keisuke. This is high-strength wire. Bundle it together in ropes, it’s what you make suspension cables out of. Forge it, and that’s what my shears are made out of.” He paused, just to drive the point home. “ _That’s daita iron_.”

“Daita iron?” Chie brightened, making another quick note. “That’s what’s really in jet bullets, isn’t it?”

Oh good, the rest of their people were actually listening when the steamsmiths explained how their weapons worked. “Yes, it’s-” Wait a minute. “What do you mean, _really_ in them?”

Dark brown eyes flicked toward Hidemi. “I hear they think we’re using Kabane bones.”

Ikoma blinked. Took a deep breath, and buried his face in his hands.

“First they say we can’t kill them, then they think we’re using their bones,” Keisuke mused. “I wish they’d make up their minds.”

“Who said you killed any of them?” Hidemi snapped. “The traitors brought the Kabane with them, and your _lady_ let them escape the fall of Kongokaku. They could have given you the bones. Now you’re all cursed.”

Something in that tone snapped Ikoma’s head up. He didn’t feel anything, he didn’t smell anything, but that didn’t sound _right_.

Hidemi’s finger jabbed out. “And you brought it down on us-!”

Keisuke glared, and the finger stopped before it could touch anyone. Hidemi looked at it as if it’d betrayed him, and cautiously shuffled back and away.

Ikoma breathed out, any sigh muffled by a louder patter of rain. Sounded like the wind had shifted to hammer against thinner spots of armor. He’d have to mark those as higher priority when they finally had a chance to stop... or at least slow down. Even Suzuki wouldn’t try to retrofit armor on a hayajiro moving at speed in the rain.

...Probably.

The bushi kept his gaze on Hidemi one long moment more, then deliberately looked back at the bundled wires. “Daita iron. So we can use this.”

_So we’re going to ignore the hysteria. Okay_. “It’ll take some cutting and forge work,” Ikoma noted. “But even if this is the only box, it’s enough for a good amount of ammo.”

Huddled in a corner of the crates, Hidemi shuddered. “Like you’ll live long enough to use it.”

_If you don’t think it works anyway, why do you even care?_ Ikoma thought, exasperated.

But he bit back the words. He’d been bitten, he knew the kind of crazy that ran through a man’s head; wanting to die, wanting to _live_ , and terrified he wouldn’t be fast enough to do either. Hidemi might snarl about them dying, but he’d bet the man was really worried about himself.

_Make that paranoid_ , Ikoma thought, heart sinking as the man seemed to rock on his feet. That... that didn’t look good.

This was why the Hunters and Keisuke had started poking their salvage in the first place. Slow infections were hard to catch, even for Kabaneri, and he and Hozumi couldn’t tell if anyone in this car was infected. Or wasn’t. Not yet. Better to be doing something, anything, rather than dwell on that possible awful death.

Keisuke gave Chie a lowered glance. She started, then smoothly moved over to poke another crate’s label, putting herself between them and Hidemi’s direct line of sight.

Keisuke shifted closer, voice almost too low to hear over the rattle of wheels. “You still can’t be sure?”

Ikoma shook his head. “I wish I could.”

The bushi winced. “Damn.”

“Hozumi sensed Shion hours before she turned,” Ikoma stated, after a glance to be sure Hidemi was preoccupied with what might have been a station oil lamp before it’d been broken; someone must have salvaged it for the metal, it was a battered mess. “We’ll know.” 

Which was cold comfort. But it was all he could offer. At least they _would_ know. Anyone infected would get the chance to go out with their own minds, confident they wouldn’t infect anyone else.

“Right,” Keisuke said more loudly. “Let’s see... oh, this one looks promising.” He shifted the medium-size crate, testing its weight, listening for sound. “This could be paper.”

Ikoma drew back a step, eyebrow raised. That wink was oddly familiar; though the last time he’d seen it, Takumi had been raiding the latest prints in Aragane. “Just what kind of _paper_ are you looking for?”

“Keishi was a seat of culture and spirituality.” Keisuke affected a proper noble bushi air, as if the rail-dust and strain of the past weeks was no more than a passing breeze. “The temple city would certainly portray the torments of Hell, and the delights of Heaven.” He grinned. “Especially the goddesses - er.”

Chie gave him a demure look from under dark lashes, then smiled. “I would not look unkindly on a copy of _The Youkai’s Wedding_.”

Ikoma glanced between the two of them, then raised empty hands and backed off. “It’s all yours.”

Someone rapped on the car’s front hatch.

Hidemi jumped. Chie and Keisuke looked at each other, then she moved at the bushi’s waved hand, giving Keisuke a clear line of attack in case whoever was knocking was less than friendly.

Ikoma advanced ahead of all of them, fairly sure this pounding was an ally. By this time he’d heard a lot of rifle butts slammed against steel. This rapping was clear, unhurried; not short and sharp, not a long pounding from riflemen out to terrify those they were about to shoot. It was either a Koutetsujou rifle, or a Hunter.

And if he was wrong... well. He had a better chance of surviving an enemy bullet than most.

The hatch opened, Matsuhide with his steam rifle held in a deceptively casual low grip. The Hunter scanned the car in the blink of an eye, noted no glowing hearts or screaming panic, and nodded at Ikoma. “Kajika needs you. Steamsmith business.”

_Did we miss something in the repairs?_

Who knew? Even with bushi and townsfolk doing their best to fill in on simpler repairs and maintenance, the Koutetsujou didn’t have enough steamsmiths. If they were lucky when they got to Shitori, some of their injured might be well enough to come back on board. For now, they had to scramble.

_Better get out of here before Hidemi does something stupid_.

And Hidemi might not be the only one. So far Chie and Keisuke were keeping it together, but any sane person might judge a bullet a small price to pay for getting away from Hidemi’s corrosive panic.

Ikoma slipped out through the hatch, gripping the wheel on the other side from Matsuhide to help him spin it sealed. Out here in the passageway the rain was louder, the air more moist, though not a drop had penetrated inside that he could see. “Is H- Mumei going to take over the watch?” Drat, he’d almost said Hozumi, and so far as he knew she hadn’t given her real name to the Hunters yet.

_When Uryuu decides. Then she might_.

“In a bit,” Matushide acknowledged. “We can take care of things for now.” He nodded forward, toward the next car. “Smart lady. Keeps her distance from the bees, but doesn’t panic if they land on her.”

Despite the awful day, Ikoma had to smile. No, Kajika didn’t panic. Not about bees, not about near-derailments, and not about Kabaneri. Kajika was _awesome_.

And if he was lucky, maybe they’d find some time to just... sit. Take deep breaths, and maybe lean on each other a little. Because despite everything the two of them were still alive, and that - that was good.

Another hatch, and it was time to walk carefully and make no sudden movements. Hanging slabs of drying boar, jury-rigged iceboxes with meat that wasn’t dried yet, a few skins that’d looked worth saving, and all the odds and ends needed to maintain the Hunter’s four bikes, jammed into the half of the car not full of hardy sorts from Yashiro and Aragane. Not to mention the rain had the hive mostly calmed down to sleep and not interested in humans, but there were always a few bees flying loose.

Oh, and there were jittery Hunters, too.

_We’re working on that_.

Well, mostly Lady Ayame was. The rest of them took her orders and knocked on the nearest hatch for luck. Matsuhide was getting ambushed to spar with the bushi, Eishun had been consulted enough on guns and kerosene engines to start having a grudging respect for Koutetsujou steamsmiths, and all the Hunters were being drawn into long gossipy talks about bees, hunting, proper aim, and anything else Koutetsujou townsfolk could think of. Anything and everything to make it clear, _yes, we see you, you’re like us. You could stay_.

From the way Uryuu’s scowl at Ikoma was less vicious and more just habitually grumpy, it might be working.  

_Or, it could just be he got Eishun and the bikes past the Kongokaku at the memorial fire and safe back here_ , Ikoma admitted to himself. _Hard to say_.

Standing near the hive with a few other women, Kajika glanced up at the sound of the hatch closing. Took one look at Ikoma, and dashed two steps to wrap him up in a hug.

Warm arms, and soft hair brushing his neck by the restraint. A scent that was well and whole and healthy, and above all not afraid of him. Ikoma relaxed into that familiar grip, carefully hugging her back. “Is everything okay?”

“Keisuke and Chie are in quarantine, _no_ it’s not okay. And you don’t think so either!” Kajika fought back a sniffle, and pulled back enough to look him in the eye. “But the longer they’re okay....”

“Let’s hope,” Ikoma said honestly. He patted her shoulder, hoping himself, and leveled a questioning look at Uryuu.

Hazel eyes narrowed, then Uryuu jerked his head over toward the bikes. Where they’d be surrounded by Hunters, and out of casual earshot. Right.

Ikoma didn’t even bother to shrug, walking over to machined steel without a qualm. If Uryuu ever meant to stab him, the Hunter would make sure he saw it coming.

Uryuu waited just long enough for Kajika to catch up, then nodded for the rest of the Hunters to close in. “What do you know about those idiots we pulled out of Keishi?” Uryuu jabbed a thumb toward the front of the Koutetsujou. “I don’t like stuff I can’t talk about. A little too _familiar_.”

“I _want_ to think they were hiding out under a rock,” Ikoma grumbled. “But the tech they have, what they _don’t know_ about Kabane - they could be telling the truth. And....” He had to pause, and breathe. Because this was painful but also _important_. “They didn’t seem to notice anything strange about me. Or Mumei.”

Mid-glare, Uryuu’s jaw dropped. “They... what?”

Kajika poked her fellow steamsmith with an exasperated sigh. “What did you do?”

_Snuck through a horde, killed the stragglers, had to switch to the fallback plan_.... But none of those should have stood out. Much. “Jumped onto the top of the sortie car,” Ikoma said truthfully.

Uryuu gave him a sidelong look. “From how far?”

“Far enough,” Ikoma admitted. “The spur was a lot farther from the track than it looked.”

That got him flat looks from more than Uryuu. “And they didn’t notice?” Eishun’s fingers brushed his scarf, as if he wanted to use it to strangle somebody.

“They didn’t bring it up later,” Ikoma shrugged. And tried very hard not to smirk, though the Hunters might be some of the few people on the hayajiro who would get how funny this was. “They might have been a little distracted. I was dissecting a Kabane.”

A long moment’s silence. Uryuu’s jaw worked, and a snort of laughter escaped.

“You two-! It’s not that funny.” Kajika _hmph_ ed. “There has to be some way we can keep them from getting flung up into the undercarriage. Getting them out is dangerous.”

“I’ve asked Suzuki about it,” Ikoma shrugged. “He says a lot of things have been tried; the prow on the Koutetsujou’s one of the best horde-parters on any hayajiro. But when a horde is on the tracks and we’re moving slow, some of them are going to get caught underneath.” He waved it off. “But I think I know _why_ O’Neill’s people didn’t notice. Teal’c was able to make the jump with us.”

That had the Hunters’ attention. Good. Because Kurusu and the other bushi knew how to deal with Kabane strength, but if O’Neill was really a soldier from somewhere else, they’d have to _negotiate_ with the man. If only to try and contain the damage when more of O’Neill’s clueless forces showed up. Because _of course_ whoever was out there would send more to get swallowed by the Kabane. Unless they were very, very lucky, and O’Neill’s commander and shogun both had the good sense the kami had given a _drunken mouse_.

After Aragane, Yashiro, and Biba, Ikoma did not feel inclined to count on luck.

But the Hunters weren’t Lady Ayame’s forces, yet. _They_ didn’t have to negotiate.

From that twitch of a smirk on Uryuu’s face, the Hunter was thinking exactly that.

The smirk faded back to a frown, though, as Uryuu shook his head. “They might have missed you. But they noticed Mumei.”

_Oh, hell_ -

Half-gloved hands lifted; _wait_. “She came in and sniffed Teal’c to check him over, because he’s got a... _thing_ in his chest.” Uryuu grimaced. “They didn’t twitch, they didn’t pull rifles on her; if they don’t know anything about Kabane, I bet they can’t guess about Kabaneri. But she acted weird - not weird for the mosquito, but weird for regular people - so that, they noticed.” He gave Ikoma a look askance. “You’re a steamsmith. Everybody knows steamsmiths are weird.”

“Thanks,” Ikoma said dryly. Shifted his shoulders, glancing uncomfortably at Kajika. “Am I that weird?”

Kajika stifled most of a giggle. “Just a little.” She huffed a breath, looking forward. “Though O’Neill’s people might have been distracted by something besides the Kabane.” She straightened her shoulders. “We should go over the first car.”

Okay, that he hadn’t expected. “In the rain?”

“Hell no,” Uryuu said, almost as fast. “Roof-jumping in this mess is too dangerous. Don’t give me that look. We’ve fought Kabane off a hayajiro in the rain before. _Maybe_ Mumei could jump it; she’s been Kabaneri years, she knows what she’s doing. Your stray’s still working out how hard to hang onto people. Just look at O’Neill’s bruises. You try that in the rain, someone’s going to break bones.”

Ikoma grimaced, but didn’t argue. O’Neill was a grown man, with a lot more muscle and heavier bones than Kajika would ever have. If he ever had to grip onto her the way he had the strange bushi... she’d get hurt.

_I don’t ever want to hurt her. She’s been through enough_.

“But I think O’Neill’s people know something important,” Kajika insisted, leaning in. “They don’t know about Kabane, but what they said - they know how jet bullets could work. They call it the _Monroh Effect_.”

Ikoma blinked. “They _call_ it-?”

Kajika nodded. “All I had to do was describe it, and- where are you _going?_ ”

Kajika’s hands latched onto his arm like kitten-claws trying to hold back a swinging door. Ikoma stopped, no matter how much he didn’t want to. “To talk to them? If they know how focusing explosives works-”

Kajika tugged on his sleeve, face set in Scary Bargaining Mode. “And that’s why you can’t talk to them yet!”

_Eep_. “Why not?” Ikoma managed, noting that the other Hunters had fallen back, and even Uryuu was staying out of grabbing range. Smart man.

Kajika huffed, loosening her grip a little. “Because you never _ever_ show all your cards when you’re starting to bargain, that’s why!”

Bargain? He just wanted to talk, and.... “There’s just the four of them, they can’t be carrying that much-”

“They don’t have to be. They have a general!” Kajika gave him an even fiercer look. “Generals mean armies mean supplies. Supplies we _need_. Do you know how much Lady Ayame got out of Shitori’s minister with jet bullet designs? Information _costs_. We want it from them, they want it from us - I know you want to talk to them. I also know how much you scrimped and saved for every book that let you build the piercing gun, and when are we ever going to see those books again unless we take Aragane _back?_ ”

_Oh_. “Kajika.” He wrapped a hand over hers, meeting that fierce, hurt gaze. “What do you want me to do?”

Finally she relaxed. “Not just you.” She pointed at Uryuu, and Eishun. “You too.”

“Eh?” Uryuu managed.

“Mumei said something about Hunter bullets.” Kajika looked over all of the surviving Hunters. “That you could use them in gunpowder guns to kill Kabane, when steam rifles need jet bullets. O’Neill’s people have _gunpowder guns_.”

Uryuu blinked. The other Hunters started. Eishun looked like someone had cold-cocked him one.

Ikoma eyed Hunter steamsmith and Hunter leader alike. “So how do your bullets work?”

“Or do you want to bargain for that with Lady Ayame?” Kajika said, hard on his heels. “Because information _isn’t_ free. But we’ll all get a better bargain if Lady Ayame makes one deal with O’Neill, instead of letting him make us undercut each other.”

“O...kay?” Uryuu straightened, and shrugged. “Not sure what I know is anything to bargain with-”

Letting go, Kajika clapped her hands together and headed for the front hatch. “Good, let’s go!”

“Don’t worry,” Ikoma advised the suddenly wary Hunter. “Kajika won’t let you get skinned. Lady Ayame gave her word. You’re on the Koutetsujou, you’re one of us.”

That yanked the scowl back onto Uryuu’s face. “Eh. Rather let the princess handle those strangers anyway.” He threw his shoulders back, and swaggered forward. “Sure. Let’s go talk.”

* * *

 

The railing at the top of the stairs down to the conductor’s area was solid. Familiar. Ayame’s hands gripped it, and wouldn’t let go.

_Breathe. In. And out. I can’t cry yet. Not here_.

Her people would understand. She knew that. But that was why she couldn’t cry.

_I may be young, and lacking. But I will give them all I have_.

Tears were for later, in her bunk. Where Yukina and her attendant Miyako might notice, but would never betray her.

“Lady Ayame?”

The redheaded conductor stood at the foot of the stairs, jacket loosened against the summer heat. Yukina eyed her a moment more, then looked past to Kurusu and Kibito. “Trouble?”

Ayame took one more long breath, and made her fingers unclench. She didn’t look at how ridged steel had dented her palms. So long as the skin was unbroken, it didn’t matter. “No trouble on the tracks. We’ve just encountered some possibly interesting information that may be critical later.”

Yukina looked her up and down as Ayame descended. Nodded, heading back toward the controls. “The kind of interesting that needs a cannon.”

“That might not be enough,” Kibito admitted, following his lady.

“Will not be enough.” Kurusu’s steps were near-silent, even on the ringing stairs. “If the danger ever materializes.”

“If?” Yukina glanced up from a pressure reading. “You don’t think it’s likely.”

“It is... complicated.” Kurusu’s lips thinned, as he stepped off the stairs. “We will need to discuss it in detail.”

“And with the Hunters.” Ayame held her composure, hands folded to absorb the shock of her people’s sudden attention. “The danger O’Neill spoke of? If anyone in Hi-no-Moto knew of it, the shogun would have. Who knows what secrets Biba shared with his men? Things they may not even know they know.”

From that downward flick of sharp brows, her bodyguard knew she was correct, and was distinctly grumpy about it.

As well he might be, Ayame admitted to herself. Escaping Kongokaku there’d been no _time_ to give measured and careful consideration as to where to put the Hunters; not with a shamed mob of Kongokaku to find room for. Those she had taken some minutes to think on, and chosen the fourth car, because she _would not_ let those Kongokaku who’d been a mob closer to either end of the hayajiro. Those of the Koutetsujou who’d been displaced had moved forward or back as they chose - and with that in mind, the last car, away from the locomotive, had seemed the best place for the Hunters. Put known fighters at the end of the hayajiro, where they’d be firing at the hordes as the Koutetsujou raced away. They needed room for their bikes, but... there were only four of those. Not to mention granting the Hunters part of the last car was the easiest way to keep them separate from the Kongokaku and any of Aragane and Yashiro who just couldn’t bear to look at them.

Only now the rain meant people would be forced to travel the entire hayajiro, instead of taking shortcuts over the roofs. Together with the three souls currently in quarantine, this was just going to wind Dogen’s people tighter.

Kibito glanced between his fellow warrior and his lady, and sighed. “Well, if we need Uryuu-”

Steel clanked, above and far back; the rear hatch, echoing down to the controls. Yukina glanced that direction, then resolutely turned back to her work, evidently confident that whatever it was, her steamsmiths and Ayame’s bushi would do their jobs and _handle_ it.

Justified confidence, Ayame was relieved to see; Suzuki came down the stairs next, the steamsmith’s damp blond curls a head above Ikoma’s clipped green, Kajika’s brown, and-

Ayame almost started, then schooled her stance and face into polite welcome. She didn’t know what had brought Uryuu when she needed to talk to him, but that was the Hunter’s pale silver trailing the group.

_He could just be curious. His men would have seen O’Neill’s people join us in the locomotive to talk. He must have questions_.

Kajika stepped forward, into a polite, formal bow; the proper courtesy Ayame had rarely seen from her own people since the mountain passes. “Lady Ayame. We need to consult on conditions of trade.”

Ayame blinked, and looked them over to gain a heartbeat to think. Kajika’s tone was formal, but her tense shoulders were eager, as if she could see a deal just waiting to be snatched up. Ikoma stood behind her, fidgety like he’d rather be anywhere else tearing apart machinery, but obviously backing the Koutetsujou’s quartermaster. While Uryuu was wound tight, and half-turned away, as if he regretted ever setting foot on the hayajiro. Still, he was _here_. That was what was important. “Trade with O’Neill’s people?”

Kajika stood from her bow, nodding quickly. “They want to be armed against the Kabane-”

“Yeah, ‘cause they’re not _totally stupid_ ,” Uryuu muttered.

“-And they seem to know how jet bullets work,” Kajika forged on. “But they’re not familiar with steam rifles, and we know Hunter bullets are effective against Kabane with gunpowder guns.”

Ayame straightened, heartbeat quickening. Oh. Oh, she hadn’t even considered....

From Kurusu’s controlled scowl and Kibito’s more open slap of palm to forehead, neither had they. And why would they? All her bushi were used to hoarding gunpowder to the bare minimum needed for steam rifles to work. The thought of using only that as a propellant was shocking.

By this time, Ayame thought she might be getting used to shock. “You think if O’Neill’s forces come here, they would find Hunter bullets more useful?”

“They might,” Ikoma stepped in. “We’ll have to check their guns. Caliber makes a difference. But if they’re used to machining to deal with propellant blowback instead of steam - that’s a tricky thing to get right. If they want to avoid weeks of testing and bad designs-”

“Months,” Suzuki put in. “Maybe a year.”

Ikoma shot him a disbelieving look. “It didn’t take us a year to make the bullets.”

“Didn’t take the _best steamsmiths_ on the Koutetsujou a year.” Suzuki smirked. “Knew what we were doing.”

From that glint of light off Ikoma’s glasses, he still didn’t buy that. “Anyway. It’d take time. They’d be better off sticking to steam and jet bullets, _or_ gunpowder and Hunter bullets.”

“Unless we can come up with something better.” Kajika took a deep breath. “I have asked Hunter Uryuu to trade details of Hunter bullet construction with our steamsmiths, so we have a chance to see if designs can be improved, and also to consider including his own trade offers under the auspices of the Koutetsujou’s Lady, so we may all present a united front in the face of a foreign general.”

Ayame sent up a silent prayer to whatever kami were watching over them, thanking them for the bravery and tenacity of her people. She tried, but she couldn’t think of everything - and when she hadn’t, the Koutetsujou’s crew had still seen an opportunity and _moved_. “Hunter Uryuu. Would you be willing to do that?”

Half-gloved fingers tapped bare arms. “I’m thinking about it,” Uryuu grumped. “You probably want Eishun for the tricky details, but I know enough about our bullets to get started... little lady makes a good argument that we shouldn’t give stuff away, and Ikoma thinks she’ll get us all a better deal than I could.” He side-eyed Kajika in all her feisty hope, and glanced back at Ikoma. “Did she really beat down station markets to _half price?_ ”

Eyeing the Hunter right back, Ikoma smirked.  

“We need supplies, and we need weapons.” Kajika stood fast, determined. “The best we can get. Better than what we have. We all saw Yashiro Station... well, you Hunters didn’t, but you’ve seen other swallowed stations, you know better than we do what it’s going to take to get every Kabane out of Aragane. O’Neill’s people don’t have jet bullets, but they know how they _work_. I bet they could build them, or something better; and if they’re not fighting the Kabane every day... well, look at their gear! When was the last time we could ever mass-produce anything like that?”

Too long, Ayame knew. Aragane had specialized in maintaining and building hayajiro, so they’d managed to keep more manufacturing than most stations, but large-scale mass production? Longer than she’d been alive.

Kurusu studied the steamsmiths, and shook his head. “Even if O’Neill’s people can mass-produce weapons and ammo, there may be limits to what we can obtain. If they came to our world through this _Stargate_ , if it is an object that can be buried - then it is likely that it cannot send large groups from one place to another.”

“And we’d have to clear the way to wherever it is in Keishi to use it,” Kibito agreed. “With those hordes? That could get tricky.”

Ikoma was holding up his hands, riverstone glinting blue-green from one palm. “Wait, wait - _our_ world? Stargate? What are you talking about?”

Kibito cleared his throat. “This is going to sound a little crazy....”

“I would consider it insane, if not for the evidence.” Kurusu glanced at Suzuki. “We will want you to speak to O’Neill’s people at some point. They seem to recognize Albion’s writing, yet not your birth nation on the world map. Or Hi-no-Moto itself.”

Suzuki started. “Don’t know _where they are?_ ”

Kurusu’s mouth twitched. “It would seem not.” He paused, one heartbeat long. “Ikoma can tell you, they asked when we would come to a place free of Kabane.”

“Which just proves they were maybe on an island that got lucky,” Ikoma put in, as Suzuki sputtered. “What evidence?”

“Besides the creature Teal’c carries within, which is nothing like anything even Hozumi has seen before?” Ayame had to smile. “I think the best evidence is that they knew nothing of Kabane - and yet they somehow managed to arrive in Keishi in the first place.”

Ikoma held up one finger, as if he wanted to contradict that could even be possible-

Subsided, muttering under his breath as he went through and discarded options. Ayame caught _near-landlocked, river might have kept them off but you couldn’t miss seeing Kabane, O’Neill’s team has binoculars_....

Two minutes, and the steamsmith looked up again, mouth pursed like he’d bitten a lemon. “All right. They got there _somehow_ , there’s no way we could have done it-”

“And whatever they used to pull it off, it’s not _with_ them, or they’d have tried to bolt already,” Uryuu agreed. “So what’s their story, Princess?”

“Well....”

A few minutes, and all the steamsmiths and Uryuu were staring at her.

Ikoma was the first to shake it off. _“Aliens?”_

“How about that.” Uryuu blinked slow, like a cat trying to decide if something was worth pouncing. “Asao’s going to love this. He always liked the weird science adventure books.” He lifted his head, dark leather catching a glint from the overhead light as he listened to the rain drum on armored steel. Tight shoulders eased. “Sounds like the storm’s going past us.”

“Maybe.” Suzuki’s eyes were hidden behind lenses, but the set of that cleft chin was grim. “Barometer’s still dropping.”

At the controls, Yukina tensed.

Ayame’s nails found her palms. With an effort, she didn’t clench them. She probably didn’t know as much about weather as a hayajiro’s conductor, certainly not as much as a former steamship sailor. But a lord’s daughter had to know enough to manage crops in Aragane... and to know when to tell her people to take shelter. 

Ikoma took a half-step Yukina’s way, then took a breath and looked at Suzuki. “What does that mean?”

The senior steamsmith straightened in surprise, then nodded. “Aragane. Worked inside?”

“Most of the time,” Ikoma agreed. “I thought the air pressure dropped when a storm came through. If the rain’s stopping, but the pressure’s still going down - what does that mean?”

“Bad for ships,” Suzuki said bluntly. “Can be worse for hayajiro.”

“It means we’re getting rain bands,” Ayame stated. “We could be in the edges of a typhoon, right now.”

Kajika pressed a hand to her lips. Ikoma held her shoulder, even if he was paler than normal. Uryuu’s hand strayed near his knife, as if he wanted to stab something if it’d just stay still long enough.

“Stay calm,” Kurusu advised. “The hayajiro’s armor should be heavy enough to protect us from the worst gusts, so long as we keep our speed low. Though the rear car is lighter... Ikoma. You and Hozumi trade off watch on the quarantined tonight.”

The Kabaneri thought about that, and nodded. “Tornadoes?”

“It’s possible.”

Ayame hid a frown. Why would the chance of tornadoes mean their two Kabaneri would need to stay up all night - _oh_. “You think the armor is light enough that we might have to shed the rear car?”

Kurusu inclined his head.

“We weighed it down with all the freight we could, but it’s no match for layered steel,” Kibito agreed. “If we get a high gust, that car’s likely to go over first. And if it does that while it’s still latched on....”

Ayame pictured it, one car twisting and pulling the whole Koutetsujou over. Disaster. And not long after that, death, when the inevitable horde found them. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Yukina wince.

“Then we must be prepared to abandon the rear car,” Ayame said steadily, “and we will not leave our own to die if they only _might_ be infected.”

Which was why Kurusu wanted the Kabaneri on watch, she knew. Not only did they have the strength to help break the connections by main force, if worse came to worst. But if those in quarantine had to come back to even the Hunter’s car - better to have those who could detect a Kabane right _there_. Before anyone panicked further.

Kurusu nodded. His hands did not fidget near his katana. “Suzuki. Are you certain?”

“Not yet,” Suzuki admitted. “Pressure’s low enough. Could be just bad storms... could be worse.” He shrugged. “Have to see if it gets lower.”

Ayame turned directly to Yukina. “And if we are in a typhoon?”

Yukina leaned back from the controls, obviously going over the track in her head. “We need to check the maps, my lady. But in this area,” red hair shook, “there’s no good pulloffs that would stay secure if the tracks flooded. The best thing we can do is keep going.”

Drumming against steel, the rain grew quieter still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I grant that the TV show probably didn’t have the time or space to cover it, but I wish more fic writers would pick up and note what a narrow squeak it was we have a modern world at all in the Stargate ‘verse.


	6. A Little Rain Must Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Murphy is still having altogether too much fun. There is rain. And madness. 
> 
> (And possibly a need for shirt repairs.)

_Sounds like the rain’s letting up_. Drawing indigo curtains half-closed around SG-1’s corner for a little privacy, Jack leaned back on the bunk. Yawned, trying to clear the slight nagging pressure in his ears. And tried not to wince at the shrill sounds, as kids who had not yet mastered volume control argued at the other end of the car.   _Storm’s not done yet, though. Hope the track’s built up high and dry_.

Probably had been; the locals struck him as no dummies. What worried him was, the tracks had been built _before_ Sudden Zombie Apocalypse. Maybe he didn’t know much about trains, beyond Wild West movies and studies of World War logistics, but tracks needed maintenance. If the Kabane were really everywhere....

_Better hope the conductor knows what tracks to take_. Jack breathed out. _Okay, potential problem, nothing we can fix_ right now. _Except offer to break out the C-4 if the track needs high-explosive maintenance_.

Usually they didn’t need the big booms at all on a mission. This time Jack was worried they might not have _enough_.

_If we need it, we use it. So. What can we fix now?_

If they were back through the ‘Gate, they’d debrief; get stuff down while it was still all fresh, not yet muted by the adrenaline crash of being back on Earth. They weren’t getting anywhere near the ‘Gate anytime soon, but he’d better get everyone to review the Day From Heck anyway. All _kinds_ of mess had just gotten implied in that conversation with Ayame, and he meant to make sure his team didn’t miss anything that might bite them later.

Not to mention he needed to do something serious, ‘cause the revelation that this planet actually had _weird tales fiction_ made him want to cackle a little too much for their neighbors’ peace of mind. Jack had his fingers crossed that they could borrow some of the local pulps to copy for the SGC. Along with a translation dictionary for the local lingo and writing, if anyone could piece one together. Meeting people face to face sometimes glossed over how alien a culture _was_ in the face of shared food and foxholes. Reading what they wrote - that gave you a whole different take on things.

Besides. New science fiction nobody on Earth had ever read. What was not to like?

Sam had borrowed a cushion from somebody and was very quietly not-quite bouncing on it. “Sir, I know we should give people time to recover from today-”

Jack raised an eyebrow. Because that was the bounce of science geek on the hunt for _new toys!_ Given everyone else in this car had held a memorial less than a few hours ago, because _there was no body to bury_ \- that was the last thing anyone needed. “I could use a little recovery time myself, Carter.”

“I know,” Sam forged on, “but do you think tomorrow we could ask some of their steamsmiths about fusion? Just the basics, to start. How in the world do they get it going at planetary temperatures, for one.”

Jack held up both hands; _stop right there_. “Hate to remind all of us what we were looking at, but we were listening to _extremely frustrated engineer geek_ at the time.”

Sam blinked. Daniel winced, and nodded sheepishly. “You mean he may have been talking too much.”

Jack held thumb and finger a judicious hair’s-breadth apart. “Just a _little_.”

Though if Ikoma had geek-dropped local secrets, Kurusu hadn’t so much as batted an eyelash. On the other hand, given Sword Guy’s laser-precise use of eyebrows, Jack was pretty sure Kurusu’s eyelashes would need to submit complete requisition forms before any batting was permitted. _Individually_.

On top of that Kurusu had been thumped with _I understood that_ at the time, and Jack could ruefully attest that a direct mental wrestling match with physics technobabble or anthrotechnobabble were enough to distract even the most diligent commander from anything short of incoming fire. And sometimes even that. See his own _urgh, really?_ at Futhark, writing systems, and cultural quirks of same.

“They keep armed guards around the conductor.” Sam stopped bouncing, shoulders almost slumped. “And it’s not a local technology. It probably is sensitive information.”

“That does not mean you should not ask, Major Carter,” Teal’c noted, muscled legs making sitting on the floor look easy. “But it may be wise to inquire in the context of further negotiations. After all, we of the SGC are more willing to provide worlds with the technology of the iris if we are assured there will be reciprocation.”

“And getting to negotiations would be easier if we make it clear we’re just curious about everything.” Daniel rested his chin on a fist. “So maybe we should ask about a few other things first.” He gave Jack a sideways glance. “Like the bikes?”

Jack grinned. And some people thought Daniel couldn’t do subtle. They just weren’t looking in the right places. Bikes, definitely. They needed to know a lot more about Uryuu, the Hunters in general, and the whole mess that had gone down in Kongokaku with an apparently beyond bats in the belfry crazy Biba. “Well, you know bikers. They can be a little touchy. Maybe we should ask ‘em face to face.”

Which earned him an anthropologist’s wide-eyed, earnest nod. Almost as dangerously innocent as Ayame’s smile. “Right,” Daniel agreed. “Talking about them without talking _to_ them... it’d be like making assumptions without asking Teal’c about... kel-no-reem. And other Jaffa things.”

Sam blinked, gaze switching between them both as she added two and two and probably a few imaginary numbers pulled out of thin air. Meanwhile Teal’c had to be summing things up his own ineffable way, because that raised brow had a more sardonic angle than normal. The pair glanced at each other, and nodded.

Okay, sometimes it was pure gold to have geniuses on the team, wild fits of imagined zombie planetary invasion aside. Because all of them got that whatever had made the Hunters switch sides, or at least wave a flag of truce with Ayame, it had to be at least as touchy as Teal’c calling out the snakes as false gods. “Well, I like bikes,” Jack said shamelessly. “Maybe we can ask ‘em a few things.”

Nods all ‘round. _Excellent_. A plan was the first antidote to panic. It’d probably have to be amended on the fly, given everything else they’d hit on this planet today, but having a plan to start digging their way out of the information hole was a good place to start.

“I’d also really like to know more about Keishi,” Daniel mused. “I mean, we were probably the first people to get into the heart of the city - well, who got there and survived, at least, if the Kabane hunt by scent anyone on foot would be... um. Right. We may be the first ones to get that far in for twenty years. We should find out what people know about Keishi. If they think the Kabane spread from there... well, I think we found a lab.”

And yep, Daniel knew them too well, he’d raised his hands to fend off any protest from contrary colonels about _potential hardpoints do not a secure lab make_ or astrophysicists about _not enough science-y evidence_. “I know, I know, we don’t _know_ , but it’s something we ought to think about when we go back. Do people know there was a lab? Are there going to be any problems if we investigate it, or-” Glasses glinted, a definite side-eye toward one C-4 carrying colonel. “-blow it up?”

Jack gave a Dramatic Gasp, hand pressed to his mock-wounded heart. “Daniel Jackson, intrepid archaeologist and world explorer, thinks we have found a lost center of knowledge, technology, and learning. And you want to blow it up?”

Daniel _squinted_ at him. “If it’s knowledge and learning about the Kabane? Just maybe we could all live without it. If we _have_ to blow it up.” He frowned, blue eyes turning distinctly thoughtful. “Besides, depending on how old the writing is no one here might be able to translate it anyhow.”

Jack had to blink. “Eh?”

“At least not without a lot of work,” Daniel said judiciously. “Keishi was the religious center, that probably means some specialized dialects, and when you add in that any formal education system’s been crashed hard by twenty years of Kabane attacks... er. Well. I did some poking around before we came, because if we _did_ find anything Ma’chello left I was hoping for notes... did you know most modern Japanese speakers have trouble reading anything handwritten before, oh, about World War I?”

Jack opened his mouth, thought twice, closed it again. Took a breath. “Okay, I did _not_. Why is that important?”

“Well, we don’t know how it happened here, but... the modern Japanese hiragana syllabary is really pared down from where it used to be pre-1900.” Daniel’s hand sketched air, a wide swath funneling down to a smaller wave. “Administrators in the Meiji Era standardized a _lot_ of things in the name of making the country more efficient. So they made a formal syllabary. Before that, there were all kinds of ways to write some sounds with kanji. And now,” Daniel shrugged, “you have to be an expert and know where to track down all the old information if you want to even stand a chance to decipher handwriting from back then.”

_Erk_.

Linguistics might not be Sam’s field, but she winced just as fast. “You mean, even if they tried, people on this hayajiro might not be able to figure out what anyone in that lab was doing.”

Daniel breathed out, low and thoughtful. “People Kurusu’s age, or Ikoma’s? Maybe not. Elder Dogen....”

“Is going to have an agenda besides just _everyone stays alive_ ,” Jack sighed. Because people were people, and if Ayame’s uncle had outlasted the shogun the guy probably had the same steel-trap political sense his niece did, honed by years where his only enemies would have been other humans. Sharp as Ayame was, he got the distinct feeling she considered the Kabane enemies _first_ , and only thought about humans that way distinctly second.

Good thing she had Kurusu. Sword Guy had _absolutely no problem_ seeing other humans as obstacles, to be removed with all necessary force.

Which made Jack wonder all over again how Kurusu’d met Ikoma without someone resorting to violence of the sword or wrench variety. Then again, who knew? Could be a very dented wrench somewhere.

“Dealing with Dogen is going to be... delicate,” Daniel agreed.

Which was the tone their archaeologist had used about trying to decipher some _very_ old papyrus, minutes before politely tearing a strip off a tech who’d handled pieces so roughly it’d become very old confetti. Ouch.

“But we might have to,” Daniel went on. “At least we know some of his agenda. And Lady Ayame might be able to tell us more.” He shook his head. “But twenty _years_.”

Jack raised his eyebrows, because _hey_. “Twenty years against armored smart zombies? Think they’re holding up pretty well, so far.”

Daniel sat up, as if he’d been yanked out of a completely different train of thought. “Oh, yes, definitely. They’re alive. And it’s amazing they’ve kept technical knowledge and, well,” he waved a hand at the car around them, crafts, cloth, people, “everything going as much as they have. Fortified stations - that has to be the key. If they can keep the Kabane out of even some settled areas, so people have a place they can just live? It’d give the culture some breathing space.”

Yeah. Good plan. Except-

“Except now stations have been... swallowed,” Sam got out. “Recently.”

_Yep, she beat me to it_. “Which seems really odd,” Jack mused, “given they’ve got Kabane-killing jet bullets.”

“There must be a supply bottleneck.” Sam tapped fingers against her knee, thinking. “Gunpowder, the explosives that go into the bullet, maybe even whatever iron alloys they’re using inside the slug-”

“Number of steamsmiths crazy enough to put these things together with steampunk tech?” Jack suggested.

The way Sam wrinkled her nose, she might not have considered that tiny little detail. “It could be a factor, yes. Though given their people _need_ them....”

“Their people also need working guns and hayajiros,” Daniel pointed out. “Not to mention everything else that goes into making those, and every other area of industry keeping them alive.”

“And the training of a steamsmith likely takes as long as a Tau’ri engineer,” Teal’c observed. “It would be a matter for much deliberation, determining who could be risked to construct such complex ammunition.” He straightened. “Here, if we can, is where we must aid them. If those of Hi-no-Moto cannot regain the initiative, their nation is doomed.”

“Tricky,” Jack noted, mentally going down a checklist of the difficulties inherent in a supply chain that stretched across planets. “The ‘Gate’s a bottleneck all by itself. Especially _this_ ‘Gate.”

“So we need to make it so they can expand their own production... which means they need a safe place to make the bullets.” Sam almost grimaced. “Which brings us back around to, if their stations have mostly held out against the Kabane for twenty years, why are more falling _now?_ ”

Daniel blew out a breath, notepad to hand. “Hopefully the survivors here know something about that... Jack?”

“Eh, bad thought,” Jack tried to wave it off.

“Jack.”

“Well....” Jack rubbed the nape of his neck. “You know, all the nasty tricks we know the Kabane can pull so far? Might be anyone close enough to see how the station really went down, didn’t make it out.”

Daniel stared at him.

Jack blinked, mostly innocent.

Daniel tilted his head, then nodded. “That actually could be the case. I wish we could interview a lot of people. We’re kind of used to solving world-destroying scenarios from guesses and a few fragments of old lore-”

“Whoa, whoa, back up,” Jack waved a hand. “You _wish_ we could?” Because from where he was sitting, they had a couple hundred people to interview right here.

Daniel’s eyebrows went up. “Jack. Do you want the next envoy we invite into the SGC to roam the base asking how we handled a Foothold situation?”

Sam winced; as well she might, waking up on an operating table with aliens poking her and having to escape the Mountain by the skin of her teeth. Even Teal’c looked less than calm at that one. Jack could imagine Hammond’s face if someone like, oh, say, Orbana asked to do just that, and it was not a happy general, no. They’d _lost_ people to Footholds.

...And the people on this train had lost a hell of a lot more than the SGC. Right. Ow.

“Okay, yeah, poking everybody on how stations fall, _off_ the list,” Jack agreed. Because he could also picture the hayajiro crew’s reaction to said questions, and while Lady Ayame might be polite and diplomatic in her _go to hell_ , Kurusu would probably be a bit more... sharp. Last Jack recalled from various hand-to-hand training scenarios, inside thirty feet that sword would be _way_ faster than most guns.

Eyeballing it, the length of any given hayajiro car was more like sixty feet. Still not enough wiggle room to give a colonel confidence in getting out unskewered. Not to mention interviews were usually face to face, not shouted across the room, and if Ikoma happened to be inside arm’s reach when someone with serious PTSD flinched, they might see how well tac vests didn’t hold up to something that could shish-kebab _armored zombies_. No thank you.

Jack rubbed his face, blaming the _very_ long and bloody day for that graphic image, thanks, brain. Hadn’t helped that Ikoma had powered through their car not long after that talk with Ayame. Armed, red cloak bundled over his shoulder, white-streaked hair still damp like he’d either found a leak the hard way or... nah, even these guys wouldn’t run over wet train roofs in a thunderstorm, would they?

Then again, given how Murphy had been giggling at his team so far, Jack had not been taking bets. He’d just blinked at the guy steaming through - yep, some of that had to be rain, he smelled grass and thunder and _outside_ \- and tossed a curious glance at one of their fellow passengers, a nice-looking grandmotherly type in dark green with a paler under-robe. “Yow. Is that guy ever _not_ busy?”

The gray-haired lady had blinked at him, as if wondering if such a nice young man could be serious, then shrugged. “He’s a steamsmith.”

Which summed up Daniel’s whole point: these people were too damn busy staying alive to be taking all the notes on obscure scientific details that probably hadn’t seemed at all important until the Kabane started munching their way through Keishi.

And there was still no reason to get jumpy seeing Ikoma head through armed, damn it. From what he’d seen so far, there were armed bushi - and steamsmiths, and even a few townsfolk - in every car. Which made way too much sense. The Koutetsujou could power through any horde at speed, sure; but one overhang like Keishi, and they’d have hitchhikers on every car. Like the ones who had-

Okay, yeah, not going down that mental road, just seeing the suicide charges everyone else was carrying was bad enough. Even the _grandmothers_.

Then again, he’d met some little old ladies who were enough to scare generals without being super-zombies. So.

Here and now Daniel was frowning into the distance, mind probably going over at least a dozen linguistic and cultural hints the locals didn’t even know they’d dropped. “You know, we might be getting ahead of ourselves anyway.”

Jack almost cast a raised eyebrow at that-

But Sam beat him to the punch with a patented wide-eyed interested tilt of head, that almost hid the bleeding-edge astrophysicist brain behind it. “We are?”

That sudden nod was Daniel bench-testing a conclusion in his head, and finding it reasonably sound. “Right now, we don’t know what a station _is_. Or how it works, day to day.”

“But we saw... Keishi.” Sam gently smacked herself on the forehead. “The city that didn’t make it.”

Daniel nodded. “We know the stations are probably fortified. We know the hayajiros travel between them, and pick up stranded survivors. We know they’ve got a quarantine procedure that the crew here thinks Teal’c can’t pass.” He frowned. “I wonder what they’ve got planned to work around that... anyway. That’s really all we know. Until we actually see a station, and how they built something that could keep the Kabane out, we won’t know how it could go wrong. Right now we’re - well, it’s like trying to sketch out the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. We don’t _know_ what they meant by the palm tree trunks.”

_I don’t want to know, I do not want to_ \- Jack sighed, and bit the bullet. “Palm tree trunks?”

“Oh. Um, well, there’s some speculations that textual references to a kind of male palm trees might actually mean rotating water screws that drove water up from the Tigris to irrigate the top of the garden by letting the river do the work.”

Even Teal’c blinked at that one.

“It’s possible,” Daniel went on. “They had the concrete, they had the bronze-casting technology. The thing is, _we don’t know_. Because when people wrote this down, everyone _knew_ what the palm trees meant. It’s like brushing your teeth. They didn’t have to explain it.”

Teal’c, who Jack recalled had had Stoic Looks about toothbrushes the first time he’d met that Tau’ri technology, nodded thoughtfully. “Then we must first learn what the people of _this_ world simply know.”

“What’s left of what they know.” Daniel huffed a breath. “Those are the first things we lose when a civilization falls apart. Because once enough people die _nobody_ knows anymore.”

Sam was not quite nibbling on a knuckle. “I know the first thing I want to know, sir. If we need to know how stations are built to keep out Kabane... back home we’d call an engineer. Here - what does steamsmith actually _mean?_ ”

“That, is a good question,” Jack agreed. “Anybody else get the feeling Ikoma and Kurusu are a _really odd_ couple?”

Two hands waved, and one distinct nod from Teal’c.

“And if we’re all getting that vibe, I’m guessing they think it’s weird too. So. Class structure?” Jack aimed a curious eyebrow Daniel’s way.

“They have bushi, steamsmiths, nobles, townsfolk....” Daniel trailed off, frowning. “And then there’s the hayajiro people versus stationfolk. Right now we don’t even know if a hayajiro has a designated crew; though I’d expect they do, everyone here seems to identify by their home station... mostly... Kajika said she was Aragane, but she’s also taking over as quartermaster, Ayame used _our steamsmiths_ for someone who had his map on the Koutetsujou, which kind of implies he was on it before they all ran, and Kurusu’s her bodyguard but he’s part of the hayajiro security too, at least right now, and... huh. Almost seems like a group in transition, but the Kongokaku are _really_ class-bound, would the society even let that-” He cut himself off. “And again, we’re kind of guessing. We need to listen, and ask questions.”

“Some of which are going to have to wait ‘til we hit a station, if we want to know what people here are like without three bunches of refugees stacked together trying not to kill each other,” Jack reflected. “Got it. In the meantime - what can we do here and now?”

“From those I have heard speak, it would seem the hayajiro do not normally pass near Keishi,” Teal’c observed. “It will be days yet to Shitori Station; days more to a living fortress if that station has also fallen. We will be among these people for some time. It would be wise to know their customs, and what is considered polite.” He nodded at Daniel. “It is the things that people do not know they know, that make life most difficult for strangers.”

“And people are a lot more willing to point out where you’re stepping on toes if you’re _trying_ to help,” Daniel agreed. “We helped with the food, that cut down the tension a lot. What else can we....”

Faint hiccupping breaths carried through the curtain. Jack winced, more afraid of that noise than gunfire. That was the ominous sound of a just-woken baby working itself up to an ear-piercing wail; damn it, he knew those squabbling kids had been too loud.

Yep. There went the tiny howl. Good lungs, at least. Could double as a fire alarm. Sigh.

Uh-oh. That thoughtful look of Daniel’s was not good. That look was _never_ good.

Daniel pulled back part of the curtain, and nodded respectfully to the elderly lady in green, currently fending off a too-interested tyke from her knitting even as she winced at the noise. “Grandmother Hanako? Could you use a hand with the little ones?”

...Yep, never good, because Daniel might have delivered kids but the linguist wasn’t exactly an expert on keeping the too-smart little terrors alive and unstrangled by people not their doting parents. Jack knew exactly whose head was on _this_ chopping block.

But the look of relief and warmth on that wrinkled face was almost worth it. “One kid-sitter, ma’am,” Jack volunteered, standing up. “Just a little out of practice.”

“Oh, bless you, young man,” Hanako smiled, gently prodding the tyke his way as Jack headed over. “Storms always seem to upset them that young. Worse than gunfire, sometimes!” She sighed. “At least, I hope it’s just storms.”

Uh-oh. Jack glanced up the car toward the wail, but decided to let Momma handle her baby fire alarm; he was an armed stranger, going over there would just make things worse. He grabbed grubby kid instead, firmly keeping still food-sticky hands away from anything that would stain. “What else could it be, ma’am?”

“Well,” Hanako tugged her yarns more straight, carefully unwinding a now-obvious knot. “It is typhoon season, you know.”

Typhoon season. Because _of course it was_.

“Jack?” Daniel’s voice sounded almost, almost amused. “Why are you banging your head on the wall?”

* * *

 

The crates and salvage stacked in the last car were hard, splintery, and otherwise not good for sane people to nap on. Ikoma made a deliberate show of dozing anyway. He might not be as good with people as Takumi had been, or as Kurusu was, but even a gear-happy steamsmith knew the way to keep panicky quarantined people calm was to act like _he_ was calm. And the way Hidemi was muttering to himself and twitching, the man was even more panicky than he’d been this morning-

A gust pushed hard enough to vibrate the walls, and Ikoma tried not to flinch. At least now Hidemi had a legitimate reason to be twitchy. If the winds were high enough that you could feel it even with the hayajiro moving.... Typhoon. Definitely.

_I am not going to panic. I am_ not _going to panic. Yukina and Naoto are on the maps, they’ll get us to the best cover from the wind they can find. And there probably won’t be a tornado. Probably. And even if there is, or the winds just shove us over, Kurusu got between stations on just a bike. We’ll get people to safety alive. Somehow_.

So. Napping was the calmest thing Ikoma could think of.

Not to mention as a steamsmith he’d actually slept in less comfortable positions. Curled into the hollow of a hayajiro wheel in Aragane when work had called for all-nighters, for one. On top of a pile of scrap when his inspiration for the piercing gun got trampled underfoot by exhaustion, for another. Bunch of crates? Pfft, no problem.

Besides. This was an _experiment_.

_When I’m asleep... I think the red butterflies are Kabane. Can I see them when I’m_ not _asleep?_

It was worth a shot. If he could, he might get enough warning to kill someone before they’d fully turned, without seeing the heart-glow. If he couldn’t-

Hidemi, Keisuke, and Chie were all dozing in separate corners of the car. One scream should be enough to send him at the poor unlucky bastard before more people could get bit.

Chin digging into his arm, Ikoma rocked his head sideways a little, trying to chase that elusive mental spot where he wasn’t _quite_ asleep. Some of the best creative ideas for steamsmithing showed up there. Also some of the craziest and least practical, but that was something to worry about in daylight.  

_Need to ask Kurusu and Kibito about stoppers for the rifles_.

Ikoma closed his eyes tighter, trying to picture exactly what spare steel and brass he might weld into something that could work. Only mental sketches of pipe-bits and the right solder kept wavering into a half-sputtering welding torch that would _not_ stop flinging sparks over welding bench, blueprints, straw that’d somehow ended up in the workshop, he was going to have someone’s head for the fire hazard....

Too many red sparks. He had to drop the torch, thumbing the cutoff valve, and stomp them all out, one tiny blue ripple at a time.

_Huh. Blue takes red. Pretty_.

Over and over and over, tiny bursts of blue crushing each malevolent red spark, no matter how fast they multiplied. Any one of them could start a deadly fire, and that was _not going to happen_.

_One more, and one more_....

Huh. When the blue snuffed enough of one patch of sparks, the few left nearby seemed to struggle and wink out. Which didn’t make sense, but neither did straw in a welding workshop.

_Not real. Doesn’t have to make sense. Nasty red. Doesn’t belong here_. Ikoma ducked his head harder into his arm to block out the car’s night lights, tired. _Go ‘way, want to think about rifle bits_....

Sparks first. Because no sane steamsmith ignored the threat of fire in a station. Dream or no dream.

_Just a few more... done. I think?_

Distantly he felt the rhythm of the tracks, like a steady steel heartbeat. The red sparks had flickered against that beat, like the threatening creaks of overstressed iron.

_Wait. Listen_.

There. Three more tiny sparks, trying to hide down deep in blood-red warmth, where they could flare and burn everything to ash.

_No_.

Another blue ripple - harder, this time, he was tired - and there were two. And then one.

_Never leave a job half-done_....

The spark dodged and wove, but he had the rhythm now. No matter how deep it dove, he’d dive after it-

_Got you!_

He could picture it behind his eyelids; a faint, faded crackle of blue, closing about eerie red like a tired cat’s jaws on a rat. Close, too close to an even fight....

_Crunch_.

One more blue shimmer, and the night was safely dark. Ikoma breathed out-

_Swarm!_

Red wings choked the air, rising up in a cloud thick and hot as lava. The blizzard of butterflies swirled, glowing to bleed the night dry. Tightened like a fist, somehow turning to face him-

Thunder cracked.

Ikoma jolted upright, an unfamiliar scream piercing his ears. Piercing gun already in hand as he darted toward Hidemi’s corner; someone must have turned and gone for the Kongokaku man, no one screamed like that without the threat of fangs at their throat.

_But I don’t feel anything!_

And Chie and Keisuke were scrambling back, Chie stumbling in the amber emergency lights, trying to get _away_ from Hidemi-

Ikoma stepped into the man’s lunge, point of the piercing gun turned away from flesh. No heart-glow, he didn’t smell Kabane, he didn’t feel Kabane; what the heck was going on-?

He _did_ feel the stab of wood scraping through his shirt, Kajika was going to be _so mad_ , ow-

_Check for tears later,_ Ikoma thought through the screaming; dodging fists, seeing stars as a hard head made his teeth clack together. The piercing gun made everything harder; he couldn’t drop it, he couldn’t hit Hidemi with it - he’d break that idiot’s _skull_ \- and it tied up one hand as he tried to take the splintered plank away or at least pin the writhing guy down before he hurt himself. Or anybody else. _Hope there’s no glow_ now, _not hungry, shouldn’t be- what the_ hell?

Teeth, trying to sink into his arm. Human teeth, making no headway against thick cotton, but damn it all _that actually hurt_.

Takumi would have made a joke about the irony here. Oh, what Ikoma wouldn’t give to hear it. Not that he could have, over the panicked drum of his heart as he realized Hidemi was trying to break skin, to _draw blood_ , and if _that_ happened-!

_Get off of me!_

Oh kami, the man was _gnawing_ \- if he panicked he’d kill the man, he’d have to break Hidemi’s jaw and worry about the blood later-

The steel floor jolted under their feet; _not_ wind, shaking forward and sideways as the Koutetsujou suddenly....

_Slowing - why-?_

He’d worry about it later. Hidemi staggered under the force of deceleration, jaw loosening-

Ikoma pulled and shoved, the gnawing mouth pried off white cotton with an audible squelch. 

“We need help in here!” Keisuke hammered on the door, while Chie tried to pick herself up. The townswoman almost fell again as the deceleration threw her balance off, swaying on hands and knees against crates, eyes wide.

Ikoma couldn’t blame her, as he deliberately fell back against the wall to get low enough to drop the piercing gun. They’d fought Kabane and faced Biba’s Hunters, but this was different. This was _crazy_.

_I’m Kabaneri. I’ve bled before and nothing happened - but people didn’t have open wounds. And nobody tried to swallow - I can’t risk it!_

Both hands free, just in time to parry a jabbing arm before splinters did more than graze through his hair. One blink at wood skimming just over clear glass-

_Oh hell no!_

He _felt_ bones creak, and knew he’d grabbed too hard. Or it should have been too hard, Hidemi didn’t even seem to notice-

“Cursed!” flew at him on hot breath as Ikoma tried to pin the writhing man down. “You’ve killed us all!”

Steel groaned, the wheel of a hatch spinning just out of view. Familiar clanks, letting in the wail of wind; almost covering Chie’s yelp as she finally got to her feet with a yank from Keisuke, promptly dodging back down out of the potential line of fire.

 “He hasn’t turned!” Ikoma yelled, hopefully before anyone could draw a bead on the berserker under him. “He’s not Kabane, he’s just...!”

... _Crazy_.

He’d seen it before. Never this bad, never _trying to kill him_ \- but losing stations... some got through it. Some _didn’t_.

_Can’t let him bite me,_ Ikoma thought feverishly, trying to hold back manic strength that felt like it was running neck and neck with a small Kabane. He could feel Hidemi’s fingers breaking, tried to tear him off, but the man just kept coming. _Kibito’s nerve-holds aren’t_ working, _I can’t stop him without_ hurting _him_ -

_“Coming through!”_

Bodies. Bodies piling on everywhere. Ikoma had one brief flash of panic; he’d been jumped by swarms, it hurt-!

But that’d been Uryuu’s voice, and gray hair caught the emergency lights as a glint of orange. And swarming over and grabbing were Matsuhide, and other Hunters and Aragane bushi, oh thank the kami.

Steel slammed closed, cutting the howl of wind back to a moan.

Ikoma pushed and wriggled his way out from under as at least three men yanked Hidemi’s arms behind his back, binding the Kongokaku survivor no matter how much he screamed and cursed at them. Took a breath, tugged his shirt to see where splinters had scraped-

Pulled threads, that was all. Thick cotton was still intact, shielding any trace of betraying glow. Good.

Another glance to be sure Hidemi was really down - looked like someone had gagged him with a scrap of cloth, _good_ \- and....

His hands were shaking. Ikoma swallowed, and sat down on the nearest still-solid crate.

Asao was backing off from the gagged man, shaking his hand out and checking carefully for broken skin. “Bastard tried to bite me!”

“What I wouldn’t give for some snow,” Uryuu grumped, backing off from the wriggling captive. “Or winter river water. Sometimes a cold shock gets a bastard’s head on straight.” He looked Ikoma up and down. “You in one piece?”

Ikoma nodded. Rubbed at his shirt sleeve, still feeling the ache of teeth. Took a breath, and finally found words. “He tried to bite me, too.”

Silence rippled over the car.

Keisuke cleared his throat. “That wouldn’t be good?”

“Hell if I know,” Uryuu admitted, after a moment’s stare. Smirked. “Probably not. Your steamsmith might _catch_ something.”

Ikoma tried not to wince. At least Uryuu was thinking, covering the real danger for any pair of listening ears who didn’t know about Kabaneri. Which currently meant just one... but just because Hidemi was crazy, didn’t mean he was stupid.

_Someone might listen to him. Especially because he’s crazy_.

“Talk about it later,” Uryuu ordered, stepping back to rake Hidemi with a look again, lingering on bound wrists and ankles to make sure they stayed bound. “Let’s see if that noble _elder_ is actually going to risk his hide and come down here.”

Seeing that professional assessment of how to immobilize a man, Ikoma had to twitch. He still wished one of the bushi at Aragane had been willing to _talk_ to the man that’d broken quarantine rather than shoot him, but-

But he’d never been that close to that much concentrated crazy before. It was terrifying. And _he_ didn’t have to worry about being bitten.

...Well. Not the usual way people worried.

All in all tonight had been an unpleasant revelation as to _why_ bushi were as suddenly violent as Ikoma had seen all his life. The attitude still grated, but Kurusu’s job was even harder than he’d thought- Wait. “Which elder?”

“Princess’ uncle, who else?” Uryuu crossed his arms, leaning against the momentum as the Koutetsujou slowed even more. “Storm or no storm, he needs to see his townsman didn’t _turn_.”

Matsuhide grimaced, as Uryuu gave the word a twist that hinted maybe, just maybe, becoming a Kabane wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to someone.

_It’s not. Biba went mad. And look what happened_.

Ikoma made himself breathe out, pushing back that lingering panic. Hidemi was bound, Chie and Keisuke were fine, none of them were Ikoma’s problem anymore. Time to get back to worrying about the Koutetsujou and one of a dozen waiting repairs. If they were slowing down this much either there were tricky routes ahead or there had to be something Suzuki wanted them to get to....

And something about slowing down felt like a _really bad idea_ , why-?

Uryuu glanced at him, then straightened like someone’d put a steel rod in for his spine. “What?”

A blizzard of red butterflies, bleeding the night. _Looking_ at him. “I think we have a problem.”

* * *

 

Wrinkled hands flung wide, dark cotton shadows against the pale overhead lighting. “And then the Fused Colony fell apart, the Kabane flew everywhere-!”

A half-dozen kids gasped as one, even as others huddled behind sleeves and blankets. _“Ooo!”_

_Not what I’d pick for a bedtime story_ , Jack thought, leaning against the wall, _but it sure has the kids distracted from the rain._

_Now if someone would just distract me_....

Moving casually and slow, no need to wreck the drama, Jack glanced out one of the firing ports again.

Yep, still raining. Near-vertical sheets of it, sometimes, as winds gusted hard enough to shake steel, like gray silk curtains billowing in a breeze. Which had aaaaallll the hairs on the back of his neck up at exhausted attention again, because - well. Air Force, and Special Ops. He’d been down Eglin and MacDill AFB way enough to know _hurricane_ when he felt one slamming through.

_And we’re not stopping. In a freaking typhoon, and the locals know typhoons. So why are we not stopping?_

Although he thought he could see part of the answer from here. White flashed near ground level ahead; the locomotive headlamps, reflecting off water on both sides of the track, now.

Right. People thought hurricanes, they thought winds and lightning. When sometimes the worst threat was all the freaking _water_.

The colonel made himself take a breath, and let it out slow. Not good. Not good at all.

_Whoever’s driving better damn well know how much rain this track can take. Overturned in a flood in the middle of radioactive zombies is_ not _how I want to go_.

Aaaand the fact that that was not the weirdest way he’d contemplated checking out said all anybody would ever need to know about the Stargate Program. Stargate Command, the best and brightest, defenders of Earth and chew-toys of Murphy. Yeah.

Jack pursed his lips and tried to blow off some of the adrenaline. Right now, the best thing he could hang onto was the fact that every last one of Ayame’s people knew their jobs. They might be weird, they might be improvising sometimes, but so far every time they’d hit a hiccup _somebody_ had managed to patch together a fix. Usually a bunch of somebodies. So... odds were, whoever was driving was just as good.

_They’re doing our job. We’d better do ours_.

Right now most of that job was listening, making it clear to all and sundry the team was just as interested and impressed that the Koutetsujou had pulled through a swallowed station alive. Sam was biting her lip, Teal’c had leaned forward to listen intently, and Daniel was taking _oh_ so many notes.

Jack craned his neck enough to peer over a shoulder, and squinted at the torrent of symbols scribbled across the page. Ah, Danny’d pulled out the phonetics again. Ouch, those poor transcribers back at the Mountain....

Then again there was a darn good reason Daniel took conversational notes in phonetic instead of English. ‘Gate translation was good, but not perfect. Something always, _always_ got lost in translation. Hence the whole “train” mess. Taking down notes exactly as they sounded meant their linguist could go back over what’d been said at leisure, and hopefully glean info out that would save lives.

Which was exactly why Hanako was telling this story now, Jack would bet. It was chock-full of life lessons for kids and crazy strangers. Set a smoke signal to get rescue. The fact that if you got lucky you could _hide_ from the horde, once they did one killing sweep through an area they didn’t come back right away. That if you got lucky you dropped freaking _everything_ and headed to the hayajiro; the armored trains stocked bare food supplies, save your necks first and worry about goodies later.

As for the whole Fused Colony thing - well, SG-1 had to take that with a grain of salt. One thing you could count on when someone told the story of a daring escape, the monsters _always_ got bigger.

...He just really hoped that this one had gotten a _lot_ bigger.

Hanako flung up one commanding finger. “Ah, but we weren’t safe yet! The Koutetsujou was running so fast, _so_ fast, and the curve was so sharp....”

Jack raised an eyebrow as Sam frowned. Yeah, sure, the description of the whole hayajiro almost derailing was hair-raising in the extreme, and under ordinary circumstances any train engineer who pushed things that close to the edge should have been fired - or better yet fired _at_ , bullets aimed just close enough to miss-

But _huge multi-limbed fused mass of Kabane_ chasing them as fast as the Koutetsujou could scream down the rails. He’d have redlined the engines himself. If he’d managed to break loose from pure white-out panic, because holy Jesus H. Cluny Frog. The Kabane came in armored, fast, swarming hordes? Okay, sure, managed to peg even SG-1’s weirdness meter out near max. The Kabane could clump up around one special not-zombie like freaking army ants in a bivouac and come over the walls like an undead spider? _Gaaaah_.

Sam caught his suppressed shudder, and gave him a sheepish grin. “Glass half full side, sir?” she murmured. “At least now we know what the cannon’s for.”

Hah. Ha hah. Auuuugh.

“And why they’re so good at salvage in a hurry,” Daniel added, likewise keeping his voice low so he didn’t wreck the story. With just a twitch of a worried glance that implied he might not know _hurricane_ , but he’d seen enough sandstorms to have an idea how bad this wind was. “Wow. Keeping your head enough to grab that with a crane and hook it up, when you can see this... _thing_ , picking up all the bodies before it comes for you... I just... wow.”

“Their escape from Keishi was not a fluke,” Teal’c agreed.

No. No it was not, and Jack would be willing to bet that without SG-1 stirring up the hordes, the Koutetsujou would’ve stood at least a fifty-fifty shot of grabbing what they could and bolting out of the swallowed city untouched. These guys were just _that_ good.

And yep, Lady Ayame had earned her rank the hard way. The wit and reflexes to jump on the speaking tubes, ordering her people to move against the curve, rolling the dice that that shift of mass would be just enough to squeak them back onto the rails....

_I really, really hope we stay on the same side_ , Jack thought practically, as Hanako finished her story to great and sleepy kid-cheers. _We get crosswise with her, that sweet young thing is going to do her darnedest to tear us a new one_.

Shouldn’t happen. Knock on wood. SG-1 wanted everybody to stay alive, and to get back to the ‘Gate to warn Earth about the _huge_ mess here and try and figure out how they could help the planet stuck with it. Because maybe the SGC wasn’t out here to solve the galaxy’s problems, but one wrong transit through the ‘Gate and infectious super-zombies would be _everybody’s_ problem.

...Not to mention if Kabane could infect the Asgard, things would really go down the tubes. Those poor guys were already gray.

“Sooo,” Jack drew out, with a double-check to make sure the kids really were nodding off. “When a lot of Kabane are in one place too long... how does anybody _not_ get eaten, hayajiro and all?”

“Ah.” Hanako’s nod had definite overtones of _such a bright young man_. “It seems the Nue, the heart of a Fused Colony, is a _very rare_ Kabane. Lucky for all of us. Mumei was the first to tell us of them- Why, there you are, child. What’s wrong?”

Jack blinked - the kid had come out of nowhere, even Teal’c looked surprised - automatically contrasting the fond grandmother tone with the evident realization that if the bouncy Jaffa-strong girl was here and all armed up there was a _problem_. That was not good, not good at all....

Neither was the sudden realization that the down-shift of acceleration had been real, because that last shudder he’d just felt was the hayajiro coming to a _stop_. Oh hell.

The little brunette swept her gaze over them, then shrugged. “I’m going forward with Suzuki! There’s a problem on the track.”

Yep, definitely Not Good. “What _kind_ of problem?” Jack asked warily.

...Oh man that was a big grin. Of the kind that belonged on teenage girls with a hot fudge sundae that was _mine, all mine!_ Not ones armed to the teeth. “Come see!”

Arm effectively vice-gripped, Jack quick-shambled in her wake. Kid moved _fast_. 

And apparently being cheerfully manhandled by Mumei was even better than a password; the bushi in the locomotive raised their eyebrows at SG-1, but didn’t try to stop them as the girl hauled them up the stairs and out the hatch into blasts of shivery rain.

There was quite the little party gathered up on the locomotive’s observation deck; harnessed to the railing, shading their eyes against rain gusts as they peered out along the line of the Koutetsujou’s headlamps. Just with a quick glance Jack could spot Ikoma, Ayame, Kurusu and Kibito being all kinds of armed and dangerous, some guy with the wettest yet most awesome British wig-style blond curls _ever_ -

Kurusu’s eyes snapped their way first, no surprise. “What are you-!”

Deadpan, Jack pointed down at the brunette limpet.

Kurusu’s face didn’t twitch. The bushi just... sighed.

“What?” Mumei demanded, as Jack took advantage of the sudden lack of vice-grip to get the rest of his team clipped on already. “The Hunters are busy guarding under the cars and you said they had explosives!”

“Now, they didn’t say that exactly....” Kibito trailed off, glancing at SG-1 with sudden interest. “Do you? We’re a little short at the moment. And _that’s_ going to take more than just a good use of mass charges.”

“ _That_ being....” Words died in Jack’s throat, as a particularly nasty gust of wind cleared enough rain for the headlamps to glint off the edges of steely armor and twisted metal wheels.

_There’s a car on the track_.

The derailed car was almost intact, just slightly crushed on the fallen side, laying across the rails ahead at a slanted angle. Too far onto the tracks for even the Koutetsujou’s overgrown cow-catcher to shove off to one side; and with the wheels facing this far toward them, way too many connections that could get tangled if the hayajiro tried to bull through anyway.

Curly was wiping rain off the lenses over his eyes, frown creasing his face. “Too far, with straight tracks. Can’t get _kurain_ into position.”

Jack blinked at that sudden blip in what _had_ been a reasonable sentence, cast a look back at Daniel. _What the heck was that?_

Danny, for his part, was looking at those wet curls, and the guy’s face - why? - and looking very uneasy indeed. “Um... you can’t get the _what_ into position?”

Oh great. Now _everybody_ was looking at them.

“The _kurain_ ,” Ikoma said, slow and deliberate as a cranky mechanic who’d been handed a wrench when he’d asked for a _screwdriver_ , damn it. He pointed toward the rear of the locomotive, where some cautious soul had lashed down their crane against wind gusts. “Over there. With the swinging arm?”

“The _crane_.” Sam shook her head. “Why didn’t that translate?”

Curly’s lenses covered his eyebrows, but Jack could feel the incipient snark. “Can speak like townsfolk. Don’t know steamsmith?”

Jack blinked. And blinked twice. No, not his imagination. Curly had an accent.

_Houston, we just found the guy from Futhark-land_.

Behind him, Daniel was groaning. “Oh god, two languages, only one near the ‘Gate - _loanwords_....”

Ayame’s eyes were bright, despite her evident worry. “I know. I had to learn what _ripeaa_ were in a hurry!”

“Could we save that for _later?_ ” Ikoma’s glasses shed drops, as he glanced out at the night. “We’re running out of time!”

Ah. Yeah, Jack thought. Commanders generally didn’t ask for people carrying the big booms in a staid and leisurely manner. Given the Kabane were pretty much everywhere outside walls, generous time to debate the best course of action was not an option.

Although in this case the Kabane _might_ not be the main worry. The winds were pushing hard enough to make the fallen car shudder. 

Buuuuut... status. Was important here. And Ayame hadn’t asked him _directly_. So. Jack glanced at his own tall, dark and stoic.

Teal’c nodded respectfully to Mumei, then that level gaze fixed on Kibito. “You require explosives to clear the track.”

“And one of you who knows how to set them,” Kibito said practically. “I’m no steamsmith, but I know we don’t want to guess wrong about blast sizes.”

Suzuki huffed. “Could go-”

_“No.”_

A three-part chorus, that. Though Jack would be willing to bet, steamsmith to steamsmith, Ikoma’s reason for that might be a bit different than Ayame’s and Kurusu’s.

“We can’t lose our senior steamsmith,” Ayame said firmly. “Tell Ikoma what we need-”

Just a flicker of violet eyes his way, but Ikoma nodded as firmly as if she’d tapped him on the shoulder.

“-but you are _not_ going,” Ayame finished.

“You do not have the skills to defend yourself,” Kurusu said brusquely. “Colonel O’Neill’s people do.”

“And we’re going to need to defend ourselves?” Jack said dryly. Because he wasn’t seeing any gray uglies, not yet anyway. Still - rain ruined situational awareness but good, howling storms made it worse, and the way all the area around the track was now under several inches of water, even standing against the wind would be tricky. Any kind of combat would be pure hell....

Although. Flooding water. And apparently Kabane _sank_.

_How deep does it have to be?_ Jack wondered. _How far can they smell through the rain - and how much does “eat humans” outweigh “don’t drown”?_

Kibito grimaced. “The tracks don’t twist _that_ much here, and most hayajiro wouldn’t race on a stretch like this. The only reason I can think of a car would _be_ there like that....”

Suzuki pointed toward one end of the car. Squinting, Jack could just barely make out torn metal where the usual connections should have dangled. Damn, must be good lenses.

“Blasted,” Suzuki stated grimly. “Hayajiro shed it. No choice.”

Daniel’s throat visibly worked. “You mean...?”

Jack took a deep breath, and aimed for nonchalant. “Probably full of Kabane, right?” Because Murphy had obviously popped the popcorn for this mission, drizzled on the butter and bacon bits, and was currently flopped back on the couch with a soda and candy munchies to watch and kibitz.

Ikoma hesitated, then nodded. “Probably.”

“Oh joy,” Jack deadpanned. Squared his shoulders, gripped wet steel as the wind got snippy, and braced for the inevitable. They were SG-1. Impossible was Tuesday. “So... you guys going to be up here sniping any creepy-crawlies off us while we plant charges?”

Kurusu stiffened. “I will-”

“Kurusu.” Ikoma jerked a thumb toward the ominous dark waters off the sides of the rails; even in the past minute, they looked a definite hair higher. “I’m no bushi and _I_ can see the footing out there is not going to work. I’d rather have you shooting past me.”

SG-1 traded glances; Jack raised a wary brow. Because if Ikoma was going, and looked like Mumei was going, and that car looked mostly intact, they could pretty much count on any Kabane only coming out the torn hatch at one end. From what he’d seen in Keishi, the pair ought to be able to bottleneck those, no question.

“Shooting at what?” Sam ventured.

Mumei’s grin was disturbingly bright. “Them.”

Jack blinked. Stared into the dark and rain. That was... not all dark. There were lights, slowly heading closer. Tiny, amber lights.

“Oooookay,” Jack drew out. “We reeeeeeeally need to fix the ammo problem....”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kurain - crane.  
> Riipeaa - repair(s).   
> The first is a canon loanword in the Kabaneri ‘verse. The second... is Suzuki forgetting the local word for _repairs_ under stress (he does use the Japanese term other places in canon). This apparently happened often enough the Koutetsujou crew learned his term for it!


	7. Eye of the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wind and water and Kabane, oh my....

_The winds are getting worse_.

Kurusu squinted, moving his head a fraction of an inch so blown leaves skimmed harmlessly past. A fallen leaf in a breeze might seem innocent. The same leaf-stem borne on typhoon winds could rob a man of his eye.

“Wish the Koutetsujou carried extra lenses,” Kibito called to him across the prow. “Winds like this, it’s not just steamsmiths who need them!”

True enough. Though Kurusu also found himself curious about the odd glasses Carter and Jackson had donned; they wrapped around all sides of the eye like steamsmith gear, hugging tight against the wind, but the black material of the frames seemed to be lighter and more rigid than leather.

Ikoma would likely want to pore over those in detail, muttering speculations about lacquer and rock oil and who knew what. Kurusu just noted them as another item the Koutetsujou might profit from examining. _Later_.

For now it was more important to double-check the two alien bushi were properly harnessed against the wind, set up to fire for knockback if any Kabane got close to the derailed car or the Koutetsujou. Knockback only; Kurusu believed O’Neill’s assessment of his team’s skills, the four had survived long enough to be rescued, but the winds would affect _everyone’s_ aim and there was simply no time to train strangers on steam rifles.

Half his bushi would be using normal rounds for knockback, for that matter. Ammunition was limited. The winds would carry shots wild; who knew how wild, as far as Kurusu knew any ordinary hayajiro would have holed up in a station when the barometer started falling like a rock. No one sane fought the Kabane in the middle of a typhoon!

_We have no choice_.

So jet bullets had been issued only to those with aim good enough to fire through this _mess_. Which included the Hunters.

Kurusu glanced down the length of the hayajiro, trying to make out any movement from his men. Most of the hayajiro’s rifles would be firing from inside the Koutetsujou so the wind couldn’t tear them off.

_But that limits us to the firing ports. Where we can only depress our firing angle so far - and worse, we can’t see attackers_ below _the ports_.

As Sukari had so bluntly put it when it was obvious they were stuck, “So what will we do about the Kabane that swarm _under_ us?”

Terrifying thought. A hayajiro was meant to shoot off would-be hitchhikers as it plowed through a horde. Not huddle like a turtle as the Kabane swarmed from all sides.

Uryuu, thank the gods, had stepped forward for that one. “We’d stop the Kokujou to fight the Kabane outside stations all the time. Sometimes swarms would make it up to the hayajiro. We know how to fight in the undercarriage.” White teeth flashed, a little too vicious to be a grin. “’Course, we could use someone who knows _this_ one....”

Credit to the steamsmith’s courage, Sukari hadn’t whimpered. Just _twitched_ a little.

Apparently that was good enough. Uryuu nodded. “So. It sucks, but we can handle it.”

From Uryuu’s glance at the crashed car and the Kabaneri, Kurusu could read clearly enough what the young Hunter _wasn’t_ saying.

_Fight the Kabane under the hayajiro, with steam and gears ready to tear us apart if we move wrong?_ Uryuu’s hazel gaze said. _Still better odds than going out in that wind_.

He was right. Damn it. Kurusu had made sure of his men’s harnesses himself, and still only asked for volunteers to take sniping positions.

So. Bushi, steamsmiths, and anyone else who could hold a rifle to fire from the ports. Hunters to hold the undercarriage, with Sukari at the hatch under the locomotive to troubleshoot any of the Koutetsujou’s unique gears that they’d have to dodge. And at least one bushi on top of each car, harnessed down, to snipe at a distance. They were as prepared as they could be. Kurusu only prayed the harness would hold against the coming winds. Suzuki’s look as he studied the barometer had been _grim_.

_Rain, howling winds, and an oncoming horde. Kami of my ancestors, why did Biba have to pick typhoon season?_

Then again, Biba hadn’t apparently planned to be alive to deal with little troubles like killing storms.

_Let this be a mild one. Let it only brush the coast; let the mountains have stolen its strength. If the winds are too strong we won’t be able to stand, let alone fire - and that won’t stop the Kabane_.

Kurusu made himself breathe out, tasting sea spray on the wind. That he could still taste salt, this far inland... if the mountains had broken some of the storm’s strength, it wasn’t enough.

But they’d prepared as well as they could. Lady Ayame was as safe as possible; she’d retreated into the Koutetsujou once she was satisfied as to their course of action, doing her part to keep defenses coordinated between the cars and Yukina updated on when the Koutetsujou could launch safely. As for the four on whom their hopes rested....

Ikoma was in the lead, heading for the best spot to set charges of the strength O’Neill swore they carried. The colonel and Teal’c were close behind him, the Jaffa carrying that odd metal staff as if it were feather-light. Hozumi brought up the rear, watching and ready to pierce Kabane through the heart.

_Four. Only four_.

But more bushi on the ground would only mean more people to scramble back onto the Koutetsujou once the track was clear. More targets for Kabane fangs. More potential losses. The sane thing to do, the _tactical_ thing to do, was keep the bulk of his forces in position for long-range fire.

...And Ikoma was right about the footing. Damn it all, the steamsmith _was_ paying attention to his sword lessons. 

Resolute, Kurusu turned his gaze back to the faint shimmers of orange in the night. Still faint. Still at a distance. But they were coming... and the wind was rising.

_Which will try harder to kill us? The Kabane - or the storm?_

* * *

 

Jack squinted behind his safety glasses, as claws of wind tried to pry the frames off, ears and all. _Oh yeah, this is going to be at least a Cat 1. Joy_.

And at that he was hoping it was _only_ a Category 1. Right now they were just up against tropical storm force winds; thirty, maybe thirty-five MPH. Bad enough to make standing tricky, much less walking...and the full force of the storm wasn’t here yet. There was no way to be sure how millibars translated into the Tenka equivalent but a needle on a dial was pretty damn clear either way: the pressure was _still_ dropping.

Ikoma and Sam had had to check Suzuki’s barometer for that. Jack trusted his aching ears. And knees.

Though he had to smile in the darkness, remembering how Sam had geeked about a not-train having an aneroid barometer in the first place. Given the local - ahem - less than friendly weather, and a definite lack of communications for good storm forecasts, Jack was really not surprised.

_Oh hell, what do they do about rockslides?_

One disaster at a time. Right now they’d bitten off more than enough to chew on.

...Er. So to speak.

Though currently all the locals were carefully locking down panic that had _nothing to do_ with radioactive zombies. Or, well, it did, but only in the sense of, _it probably won’t be the flood that kills us_. The hayajiro might be an armored mass as heavy as a small freighter, but it was also freakin’ tall. That height caught wind. And oh man, did they have wind. And more coming.

_Doesn’t help that the track’s built up here_.

Which under ordinary circumstances made perfect sense. The ground for about a mile or so around seemed to be almost flat; possibly some kind of abandoned fields on both sides, maybe terraced, sloping gently down to their right. Meaning under regular rain dropping out of the sky circumstances, if water filled up on the slightly higher side, it’d just gently flow through the tall mound of gravel and dirt that made the railbed. Leaving the tracks high, dry, and safe.

Right now the rain was falling so fast, it was filling up on both sides. Which still shouldn’t be a problem....

Except. Terraced fields. And Japanese culture, which if Daniel had guessed right about the timeframe Tenka’s ancestors got snatched off Earth, _did_ include rice-growing.

_Bets something’s damming up a bunch of water where we can’t see, just waiting for the wind to knock out one little keystone?_

He was a savvy, old, still-alive Black Ops colonel. He did _not_ bet with Murphy. Not when this place didn’t even have to flood to totally ruin their day. Because the tracks _were_ built up, and the Koutetsujou was tall, and if a typhoon back on Earth could ram freighters up over a seawall odds were a hayajiro wasn’t going to fare much better.

Overturned in hurricane-force winds with rushing water sweeping the Kabane right to them....

Jack deliberately crushed that image. Bad brain. No biscuit.

_One foot in front of the other. Keep moving. And thank Danny for the extra bandanas later. Breathing would suck without them_.  

As it was, cloth only slowed most of the wind. Gusts still pounded rain into his mouth and nostrils, until each breath felt like an invitation to pneumonia. At least the tracks were wide enough to let them stumble back and forth, and still stay in the frail light cast by the Koutetsujou’s headlamps. Light glinting off _too much water_ on the track sides, oh boy....

Jack breathed out, glancing at the glows fighting their way through wind and water. Just a glance. Sanity required keeping track of _what’s about to eat you_.

But “about to” was not _yet_ , and he kept most of his attention on the next wind-staggered step. And the next.

_Four hundred-odd lives behind us. Limited ammo. And the ultimate target-rich environment. If we don’t get the tracks cleared, we’re all going to die_.

Which was why Kurusu’s guys were _holding their fire_ , nerve-wracking as it was to see those lava-lights burning closer. Kabane weren’t human. They weren’t going to break and run if the first few got picked off. They might - _might_ \- be stunned to realize humans could actually kill them....

_And if they’re a hivemind, and that ripples through all of ‘em - yeah_ , Jack thought. _Hold that in reserve as long as you can. We might need the shock to get out of here._

Odds were the Kabane would close to swarming distance too damn soon for that. Pity. He kind of liked the idea of a dramatic taunting escape, not a shot fired. A guy could dream, right?

As the nearest glows started resolving into glimmers of veins on rain-washed gray, Jack knew this night would be featuring in his dreams. The bad ones.

_Keep moving_.

Kurusu’s guys, Sam, and Daniel were all watching over them. They’d do their jobs. Jack’s job was to get to the freaking wrecked car, stay alive while Teal’c and Ikoma and Mumei killed anything that got near them, lay the charges so they’d crack the spine of the undercarriage and - luck and Murphy smiling on them - blast the remaining pieces of wreck far enough off the rails for the Koutetsujou to shove aside. _Without_ damaging the rails themselves.

No pressure. Really.

_I can peel an inch off a steel plate with C-4 if I have to, but damn, I hope Suzuki and Ikoma were right about standard car weak points._ And _hardpoints_.

They didn’t need the car blasted to sharp metal smithereens. They needed it _moved_. As much as possible in large, unbroken pieces.

_Nope. No pressure_.

Heh. At least he knew Ikoma was sweating as much as he was. The steamsmith was the local expert on booms. It had to physically hurt to leave this one in the hands of a weird stranger.

But Ikoma had looked at their quick-sketched calculations, and at the unfamiliar explosive and timers, and deliberately bitten back an engineer’s instinct to meddle. Impressive.

At least the poor guy would get to work off his case of engineer cranky Real Soon Now. Just as soon as they got across the stretch of rails between them and the wrecked car without either stumbling into debris-deadly floodwaters or getting impaled by flying tree branches-

Shadow flickered.

Jack ducked, and felt something swoop overhead. And crash, safely to one side, with the distinct splintering sound of green wood meeting staff weapon metal. “Thanks, T.”

“You are welcome, O’Neill.”

Teal’c wasn’t even looking his way, dark gaze focused on the wreck ahead. The wreck _full of Kabane_ ; no _probably_ about it. Like the rest of the team, the Jaffa had dealt with enough geek hedging on degrees of uncertainty to know when even an offworld geek really meant, _I’m absolutely sure but I can’t prove it_.

And from the way everyone else on the hayajiro crew had carefully not twitched, they knew Ikoma was right, too. Oh fun.

“Man,” Jack muttered, as a gust peeled back the veils of rain for a moment. “You forget how _big_ these things are when you’re on ‘em....”

Sixty-odd feet long, wide enough to run over a fair-sized tank and massive enough to possibly crunch it like a matchbox. Ceramic ablative armor versus good old-fashioned steel; Jack honestly wasn’t sure who’d win that wrestling match, and he hoped he’d never have to find out. Bad enough he had to pick multiple points to set timers on and get them all within a second of so of each other to break the spine and hopefully skid the car sideways. Trying to seriously wreck it - well, he could see echoes of the blast it’d taken just to cut the linkage between cars in the curls of steel, the places paint had seared away to leave metal rusting in the hands of time. 

_Did it work for those poor bastards who blew the car off? Did they make it?_

Jack strained another misty breath through his bandana. He was going to think about that _later_. In his nightmares later. First his team had to be alive to have nightmares.

And there were _so many freaking ways_ to die here. Flood. Wind. Kabane. Tripping and impaling himself on a bit of torn steel. It was not a good mission, when the prospect of setting explosives to shove a wreck partway off a track felt like one of the _safer_ things he’d done all day-

That last step hadn’t had the familiar crunch of gravel tailings. More like a grating _splish_.

Jack’s gaze flicked down, to where his boots were shadowed from the Koutetsujou’s lights. But there was just enough reflective haze from mist and steel to sketch the ground, and a certain clammy chill against his toes that let his brain fill in the details.

Water, just starting to filter through the gravel under the tracks. Ah hell, they had to pick up the pace, they were running out of _time_ -

One bad knee yelped, as his foot skidded out from under him.

_Washout, mud-!_

Teal’c’s iron grip caught his arm just above the elbow; giving Jack just enough time to wobble like a drunk chicken in the wind, and frantically plant his feet again, boot dragging at one ankle and letting in an icy trickle that smelled like seaweed and deep oceans.

_Ow_.

Still, _ow_ was better than a face-to-face with the cold wet ground. Cold wet ground leading in a gravel trail sharply downward, tailings suspiciously shallow under about a yard of track. Cold wet ground going to be overrun by Kabane in the next few _minutes_ , they had to _go-!_

But Teal’c didn’t stir a foot, standing as bulwark against the wind for one skinny super-strong girl... who’d just made a squeaky breath Jack could hear even over the gale. Damn. Mumei might be super-strong, but she was just too _light_ for this clusterf- mess. Kid present, no matter how good her aim was, mess was the word. “Grab her, keep moving!”

“Mmph!” Mumei lifted her head away from Teal’c’s broad back enough to glare at him. “I’m fine!”

“You’re a featherweight and you can shoot just as well hanging onto him,” Jack declared. Glared ahead where Ikoma had stopped yards short of the car, wavering in the wind; short, low stance and all muscle, the steamsmith was having an easier time fighting the typhoon than any of them. Which was not saying much. “Keep moving! I need you to set the marks!”

Sad but true. Suzuki had given them schematics on an intact car, but they had to take into account any warping and twisting from the last explosives to hit the linkage area. And while Jack knew C-4, Ikoma knew local steel. If Ikoma had to trust him to know how to blast, Jack had to trust him for _where_.

_Sending him up alone_....

For a few seconds. Just a few. And Ikoma had a close-quarters weapon if a Kabane poked its nose out the wrecked door. He should be fine-

Wind slammed in like a freight train, and the world grayed.

* * *

 

Ikoma dropped to his knees and grabbed for a rail, fighting to stay low enough to the ground that the storm didn’t tumble him off the railbed. The rain was blowing _sideways_ , sheets of water pounding him like blinding fists, and if he got turned around out here even the Koutetsujou’s lights might not be strong enough to lead him back.

Gravel, gravel - no, wood, close-!

Searching fingers brushed the wet chill of steel, and gripped tight.

Ikoma ducked his head into the crook of his arm to breathe, just hanging on. The wind was howling, hitting him harder than any slipstream from a hayajiro. He didn’t want to _think_ about how fast the windspeed was.

_Faster than we can race, full-out. Oh kami, please don’t let the wind broadside us_.

And through the rising gale, he could feel the hunger. One strong pulse ahead; a more distant net closing in. But the net was so big....

_It’s a full horde. How close are they?_

No way to know. He couldn’t see them in the rain-swept darkness. He couldn’t smell them through water carrying tattered maple leaves and the taste of distant salt. And he could barely hear anything over the wind battering the frail flesh in its grasp.

Though he could _feel_ steel creak on steel, as the storm vibrated the fallen car against the tracks.

... _Oh that’s not good_.

Grimly, Ikoma started dragging himself against the wind. Standing wasn’t possible, but he could just barely crab-sidle along if he kept his hands on the shivering rail. Mentally the steamsmith started running calculations of the storm’s windspeed and direction versus the vectors they’d sketched on a rough diagram of the wrecked car. Given the mass they were trying to shift, the wind alone shouldn’t affect the blasts they needed to set.

Maybe.

He hoped.

Just how sensitive was _shiforu_ , anyway?

_Get there, mark the spots with the glow-tape - wonder if O’Neill has a spare roll, it’s just_ neat, _even if nothing should_ ever _be that color green_ -

_Ka-thump_.

Blood drumming, Ikoma flung up his armored arm.

Fangs smashed out of the darkness, gray skin wet with gray rain. Broken-nailed hands reached to strangle and tear-

Hooking his toes under the rail to brace, Ikoma slammed the piercing gun into lean ribs, over the heart. The blast keened, even through moaning steel.

He shoved, bloodied body tumbling to one side in the wind. Kept moving.

_There’s more. I can feel them_.

Too many more. Damn.

_Hope O’Neill’s not_ too _close behind. I’m going to get bitten dealing with these bastards._

_At least the rain should wash the blood off_....

* * *

 

Squinting through the lash of rain, Hozumi peered out from behind her offworld windbreak. The weird not-sea scent of Teal’c’s little belly-snake wasn’t so bad out here in the storm, and the big man was so wonderfully _stable_. She could shoot this way if she had to.

And she was going to have to. The blasts of the piercing gun and the sense of Kabane filled in what her eyes and nose couldn’t quite make out. One blast, two, two more following quickly together - her shield was already at work, taking out the forerunners from the car. At _really_ close range, he was going to get-

A hint of a cross-wind skirled past her nose; a fleeting trace of the hot-iron smell of blood.

Hozumi heaved a sigh into Teal’c’s shoulder. She was going to have to throw Ikoma around the sortie car again to train, she just knew it. And Kurusu and Kibito got so fussy about that. Like they didn’t think she knew how to train people! Hmph. Like _they’d_ ever fought Kabane hand to hand before a few weeks ago.

Though this mess wasn’t all Ikoma’s fault. She’d fought Kabane a lot of places, but never in a typhoon before. Rain and shifting high winds and really really awful footing - this was going to be an _interesting_ fight.

And if O’Neill’s team wasn’t as good shooting as he thought, it could be way _too_ interesting. They weren’t using jet bullets, they probably couldn’t pierce the iron cage... but gunpowder guns _hurt_.

Oh, and it’d be kind of hard to explain afterward, if O’Neill’s team caught them with unhealed wounds.

If. There were reasons her jacket was pink. Besides just being awesomely pretty.

And she was worrying too much. Kurusu and Kibito were up there on the prow with Carter and Daniel, they’d keep all the guns aimed _mostly_ the right way. She could take it from there.

She peered through the night, marking what flickers of amber light she could. Those weren’t all the Kabane, not by half, but they should be the closest. She could worry about the rest later. So... how best to take this bunch out?

And darn the wind for making her need to hang onto Teal’c, tapping her chin helped her _think_. Hmph.

Well, at least she knew jumping was out.

_So I’ll just have to fight smart_.

She’d learned since Yashiro. There was fighting for her pride, and there was fighting for her people.

Bracing herself against Teal’c’s back, Hozumi waited for the silver rain-stillness that meant a breath of a lull.

_And shoot!_

* * *

 

The rain was louder than his own heartbeat in his ears, but Jack could still hear Ikoma’s piercing gun going off. Along with a few swears.

_Swearing’s good_ , Jack thought, grimly inching forward in concert with Teal’c. _It’s when the guy stops swearing we’ll know he’s in trouble_.

Right now Jack was doing his own swearing, or maybe slightly acid praying; mostly that the Koutetsujou’s headlamps held out, or they’d stagger right off the tracks and never know ‘til it was too late. His feet were still crunching wet gravel, Jack could feel it. But he couldn’t _hear_ it. Windblown rain was a weighted curtain, constantly dragging them down with more and more water even as all their gear dripped like rainspouts... and if this was the weather Tenka soldiers had to fight in, no _wonder_ they’d steered away from gunpowder. SG-1’s weapons? They were good, but they weren’t waterproof. Ikoma’s steam-powered piercer? Still going strong.

_Must be an engineer._ Jack shook water away from his face, catching the first glimpse of neon green yards ahead. _Nobody human is stubborn enough to keep going through this. Freaking blinding rain_ -

That whine and spang above and slightly behind him, he knew.

_Oh lovely. The midget’s using Teal’c as a firing stand_.

Jack could just imagine the more-deadpan-than-usual stoic Jaffa face behind him, as they all kept pushing forward. On the one hand, kudos to the kid for being practical and _not_ trying to fight her own way through this wind. And on the other hand, good, the sparks he could see meant Kabane were going down.

But on the other other hand, he was seeing the sparks even before he could make out the Kabane, half the time. Did he mention he hated all this rain?

All the time he had his MP5 in hand, shielding it as much as possible from the driving water. Because as they kept inching closer to the car, there were more and more Kabane coming out of the woodwork; and how the hell were they doing that, he _knew_ Ikoma and Mumei had the torn door in their sights-

_Oh hell. Car on its side. Monsters with a hivemind; and even ants are smart enough not to get all of them backed into the same corner. Bets some of them just decided to burrow under and sleep_ outside?

Damn, damn, _why_ hadn’t he thought of that earlier- Screw it. Important thing was, the way the numbers were ratcheting up he was going to have to start shooting right about - _now_.

His weapon and Teal’c’s fired as one, blasting gray and snarly back against the tangle of wrecked metal. It hung there for a moment, twisting and snarling; blood dark even in the rain, heart glowing like a fiery furnace-

Mumei’s next shot quenched it forever.

Jack didn’t waste time admiring her aim. Too many targets, and they still had to _move_. Just a little farther. The wind made every step an eternity, but they were only feet away now-

_Glow!_

Jack barely kept from firing. Glow, yes. _Green_ glow, had to be the marker. Okay, time to break into his pack and-

He slammed into Teal’c’s side, safety glasses barely hanging onto his face as the storm tried to pick up all two-hundred-odd pounds of SF colonel and gear and fling them like a paper airplane. Teal’c was down on one knee, staff braced against steel; Mumei was buried against him, voice muffled by shirt and wind but obviously using some Very Bad Words. All of them were fighting just to stay upright, never mind moving.

_Ah, damn it - we were doing bad enough with tropical storm! Who the hell ordered hurricane winds?_

And the winds had teeth.

* * *

 

Eyes on the far end of the wrecked car, Kurusu tossed his head to shed some of the rain. His hair was a lost cause, channeling water down the back of his neck, but at least a blink cleared most of his vision. If only because howling winds whipped raindrops into a fine mist instead of drowning curtains.

_Mist refracts the light, there will be some error in accuracy_....

Hopefully not enough to matter. Ikoma and Hozumi would handle the Kabane close-in, but they _could not_ watch everywhere at once. Carter, Daniel, and other bushi were busy enough, knocking back Kabane approaching through the flood. He and Kibito had the best aim and most lethal ammunition-

Which made their targets not the oncoming horde, or Kabane wriggling through the door into Kabaneri reach, but the mini-swarm who’d been sleeping _under_ the car.

The steam rifle was a solid weight in his hands, holding against the wind. In the part of a samurai’s mind that was not busy with trajectory, allies, and enemies, Kurusu prayed the connections would hold. The tubing and sockets were reinforced, they were meant to handle pressure - but they were also designed to come apart in a controlled fashion rather than let a Kabane drag a bushi to his doom.

At least, they were _supposed_ to. As he’d seen at Aragane, it didn’t always work.

Typhoon winds weren’t as strong as Kabane fingers-

Lava-orange blazed. Kurusu fired.

_Can’t be Ikoma, can’t be, the steamsmith isn’t that much of an idiot, he wouldn’t be that far from the tracks, he’s wearing that shirt under his cloak and even if the rain did soak them both he hasn’t been fighting long enough for that glow to be his_ -

The blast of the piercing gun, a good ten yards upwind from his target, was a rush of relief.

Calmly, Kurusu lined up his next shot.

* * *

 

Squinting against the stinging wind, Hozumi clung as close to Teal’c as she could and still shoot. And tried not to use bad words that would get Kajika sad at her. Even if she was really, really annoyed at having to shoot so slowly, to keep her aim through the jarring gale.

She was _so_ not telling Ikoma she was jealous of that darn piercing gun.

Even if maybe she was. Just a _little_. It was a silly, risky, close-range weapon that almost guaranteed you were going to get gnawed on. But in a storm like this, she had to admit, it had one big advantage: it didn’t depend on ammo going _through the air_.

Wet black flickered past her vision, long and jagged - and disintegrating her next shot in a rain of splinters.

_Not fair! We’re fighting the Kabane. Trees are supposed to stay out of it!_

Sparks flew ahead of her, fast and clean; Ikoma letting the wind do some of the work to toss the next body out of his way. Huh. Maybe Kurusu was right, telling him to think about combat like a steamsmith after stuck gears. Ikoma seemed to fight better when he fought _efficiently_.

And here and now, the piercing gun was efficient. It didn’t go sideways more than Ikoma did, and if things got really desperate, so long as Ikoma could brace himself, he could probably drive the point home even without a charge.

Bracing. Right. She leaned back against Teal’c’s vest for a better angle-

Leather slipped.

Teal’c’s arm clamped down before she slipped all the way free. Hozumi had to cough, that grip was way too strong for most people’s ribs....

But in this storm? Better bruised than dropped. She wriggled to get back into the circle of his arm, feet kicking out-

_Splash_.

Oh. The water was toes-high now. On top of the tracks. That... wasn’t good.

_Maybe it’s deep enough now off the tracks to stop the horde?_

From the lights she still saw coming, the pressure in her head that kept building... not a chance.

* * *

 

Jack blinked, almost touching his cheek. Nope, it wasn’t the ongoing wind-chill numbing his skin; the rain really had stopped driving water-nails quite so hard into his face. Seemed this close to the wrecked car, the mass of steel was finally cutting some of the wind.

Though at the moment, Jack really couldn’t see that as a _bonus_ -

He blasted the next fangy back far enough that Mumei could snipe it. Blue sparks and flailing limbs took it _just_ a hair too far into the gale, tumbling like a sack of bricks.

Good. One less dead monster underfoot.

_At least the Kabane are having the same problems we are_.

Well. Mostly. Iron bones and the iron cage meant their sheer _weight_ made them more likely to stay put... but not by much.

_Green, green - aha! There you are_. “Teal’c! I’m going to be _busy!_ ”

“Indeed.”

The whine of a staff weapon charging was so, so comforting.

Smack up close to neon-green tape as he could get, Jack worked half-gloved fingers to get some of the cold wet stiffness out of them. And ordered his teeth to chatter _later_. Damn windchill. Damn rain. Damn hurricanes. Drop you dead of hypothermia in the middle of freaking _summer_ , for crying out loud.

_Breathe. Do it by the numbers. We don’t have enough C-4 to get this wrong_.

When they got out of this he _had_ to teach the locals some nice go-boom chemistry, never mind what the Pentagon might say. Matter of self-preservation....

All the while Jack was going over the calculations in his head, slapping the sticky side against steel in the best possible I-beam-style cut he could manage. The hayajiro car wasn’t a building, exactly, but it’d obviously been built to some of the same do-not-come-apart specs, with added V-shaped hull fillips that looked more like something he’d seen on an APC meant to go over landmines.

...Given the Kabane probably weren’t laying minefields on the tracks, Jack had serious questions about just what Tenka had been _doing_ before Ma’chello had come to call.

_Great. Need to blow up something that wasn’t_ meant _to blow up. Oh fun_.

Hence the really quick consult with Suzuki and Ikoma; one steamsmith who maintained hayajiro and one who’d apparently _built_ them. They knew the weak points. Well, weaker.

_If we can cut the spine right where it’s angled on the tracks, make it_ fold _when the Koutetsujou hits it_ -

The trick was going to be cutting along the whole bottom of the car. Which... was now the _side_ of the car. As in a fifteen-foot climb. No biggie, on a normal day. In hurricane winds?

Yep, there went the back of his brain gibbering in terror. _Not helpful_ , brain. After all, Ikoma was doing it first. Was a legendary Black Ops colonel going to let some young engineer out-crazy him?

_Can I get back to you on that?_

All the while he’d kept working, stabbing in the remote detonator-

_Oh god did I tell Suzuki not to play with radios while we’re messing with this? Yes, I did, go me._

-Poking the first charge a smidge here, a little thinner there. Okay. That should _about_ do it. He hoped.

Of course, if he got this wrong, the Koutetsujou’s locomotive would be wearing a wreck full of Kabane-

Jack had to let his pack swing from one arm and grab for the nearest solid slab of metal, as light flashed, and the wind did its damnedest to tear him loose, or at least flail him to death against already-spiky steel.

_Was that lightning?_

The rumble was less than one-Mississippi away. Yes, yes it was.

...Given the number of detonators in his pockets, it both was and wasn’t comforting to realize the Koutetsujou was probably the tallest thing around right now.

_Son of a- Oh hell, no wonder they use all that hard-muscle hand-cranked gear. If they’re out in this stuff one electrical short would kill the whole freaking train_ -

Ah, good, mental swearing had done the job; Jack got his fingers to loosen as the gust eased a hair. Dragged in a breath, and started climbing after the next glowing mark, a tooth-rattling inch at a time.

_Three more spots to hit. But no pressure_.

Pressure, of course, being the freaking problem. The winds were beating them to death, all it’d take was one wrong twitch and even Teal’c would be off his feet and tumbling.

But he was caterpillar-crawling his way up in Ikoma’s wake, using some very convenient finger-grip-sized dents in steel-

_Fingerprints in steel._

_Kabane were here first_.

There were some things you couldn’t train the hindbrain out of flinching at. Apparently possible radioactive zombie infection was one of them.

_Idiot!_ Jack swore at himself as the storm battered his arm against his side. Fortunately he’d managed to curve a bit and keep his splayed fingers from catching too much wind, but one hand and two wet boots were not enough to hang onto rain-slick steel.

Another gust. Fingers dragged, slipping-

One boot braced a moment on some kind of crosspiece, Jack flung himself even as he slipped, hitting hard against the car undercarriage. Steely, angled _ow_ , but at least his bruised body wasn’t sailing off into the wind.

_Wait. That worked?_

The wind gusted again, soft enough to lift a kite. Jack could actually hear rain falling, now.

And then not, as droplets slowed, and pattered away. Only a passing mist lingered in still air.

_Oh hell_.

* * *

 

Wind stopped, gripping wet bodies with the leaden heat of a summer night. Kurusu breathed in muggy steam, and felt chilled to the bone.

Beside him he heard Daniel’s sigh of relief. “Oh good, the storm’s over-”

“We’re in the eye!” Kurusu cut him off, already picking glowing targets as the horde realized their advantage. “Fire!”

“In the wha-?”

Carter cursed, opening up with her weapon’s phenomenal speed. “It’s not a sandstorm, Daniel!”

“But-”

“That was just half the typhoon!” Kibito yelled over the gunfire. “Shoot every last one you can! _They’re charging!_ ”

* * *

 

And that was two MP5s opening up, running through ammo at a rate Jack would very much _like_ to chew someone out for. If he wasn’t worried something else would chew him first.

Probably several somethings. He could see it now, even as he climbed; one tough, stringy colonel going down like a bantam rooster in a cheetah pen, oh _god_ those Kabane were fast-

_Focus!_

Steel was still wet, cold, and too damn slippery. But with the wind gone Jack could finally follow Ikoma’s mad race up the underside, heading for each X of glowing green.

_Guy really must know his train cars_ , Jack thought absently, packing the second marker with explosive as fast as his cold-stubborn fingers could manage. _Hasn’t put a grip wrong yet_ -

Red fluttered in open air above, and was gone.

_Hang on, not even going to wait to make sure I’ve got the right-?_

Blast. Two snarls; one ticked-off human, and one... really not. And blast.

_Right. Work, brain. He picked the spots, it should be close enough, we_ really _need him killing things._

And he was going to ask how an engineer got that good at fighting Kabane up close and personal. _Later_.

_First, charges. Second - get back to solid steel alive_....

* * *

 

_Explosives you can mold like clay_. Ikoma put down another Kabane trying to climb the top of the car. _I want to know how they do that!_

He had to smile, hearing Hozumi’s whoop as she finally got to bounce and twirl, using height and ragged bits of steel to her advantage. Though that thump as she lured one into impaling itself on a bit of broken connections probably wasn’t doing O’Neill’s nerves any good....

More Kabane were swarming near the bottom marker, despite Hozumi’s best shots and Teal’c’s... whatever the heck _that_ was. Some kind of burning concussive force?

_Not any better killing them than a gun, huh. At least it has knockback. But why are the Kabane swarming there-?_

_Oh damn it, Teal’c may smell off but O’Neill’s human, they smell where he’s been. And he’s got to get back down, the undercarriage was a wreck to climb in the first place, we don’t have_ time _to fumble around for another route!_

Picking the knot of bodies closest to Teal’c, he jumped.

* * *

 

Hozumi ran up the side of the car three paces as the red cloak hurtled down, using Ikoma’s body-pouncing distraction to hop over the four most troublesome Kabane and shoot them all through the back-

Ooo, that was a decent back-fist Ikoma had just used on one of the taller Kabane. And a good pick of targets; larger and more fangy meant more likely to be a Wazatori, and one they needed to take down fast.

One piercing whine through the rattle of gunfire, and that one was another dead body. Hozumi grinned, and back-flipped to get the car door into clear line-of-sight. _Now_ she could go back to bottling up the mini-horde still inside. _We’re getting good at this!_

Teal’c wasn’t bad either. He knew his weapon, no matter how weird it was; he knew its range, and he’d apparently used it on Kabane just enough to estimate when he had to hit them for maximum knockback. Between the three of them they were keeping O’Neill’s path down clear.

_For now_. “Move it, Grandpa!” Hozumi called up twisted metal as the foreign soldier slapped on another charge. “I want to get back with at least _half_ a cylinder!”

Which was true. Though not really the point. Steam pressure was important. But what was more important, was _time_.

_I should be able to fight half an hour. I should._

_But... I’m_ cold.

Kabaneri didn’t _get_ cold. Not in summer. Even in winter; a little extra layers, maybe a little fur or fluff on a coat, and she was _fine_.

Only winter didn’t have this much water and wind. She could _feel_ her heart working harder to warm her up.

_It’s fine, it’s fine, we just need to get back in one piece!_

_“Grandpa?”_ Came the sputter as O’Neill worked his way down as fast as gloved hands could manage on sharp steel. “Just wait ‘til I smack you with my cane, missy!”

Hozumi snorted. _What makes you think you even can_ -

He wasn’t from the Koutetsujou. He _wasn’t_ one of Ayame’s bushi, or a Hunter, or _anyone_ who knew about Kabaneri.

_Oh. Right. Oops?_

At least her leather was good at covering up the glow. But all Ikoma had was that ratty old cloak and the shirt Kurusu had shoved him into. Given the cranky snarling, if he wasn’t glowing _now_ , he would be soon.

“We need to _go!_ ” Ikoma yelled over the wailing hordes.

Heh. Ikoma might still be a gear-happy idiot of a steamsmith, but he wasn’t _stupid_. He knew what _hungry_ felt like by now. Even when it was swamped by all the _other-hunger_ pounding at them.

For a moment, Hozumi wished she could pinch the bridge of her nose. She had such a headache. _Ooo, I’d kill them all just to get the_ noise _out of my head!_

Not enough bullets for that-

Lights, swarming through the water. From all sides.

Breathing deep, Hozumi snapped her guns’ coated blades into position.

_Really not enough bullets for this_....

* * *

 

Boots splashed down; Jack staggered a little. At least his pack was a few pounds lighter-

_Oh. Boy_.

Chilled, teeth chattering, and climbing down sharp spiky protrusions, he’d heard the gunfire go on, and on, and _on_. But he hadn’t been able to look over his shoulder at the gathering hordes.

Now he could.

Lava-orange on gray, splashing determined through knee-deep water to reach the railbed. Everywhere.

_There were more in Keishi. Right? Right?_

Panic later. Running now.

* * *

 

Kurusu breathed out, and fired.

_Pick off the ones behind them. Hozumi and Ikoma can handle those ahead_.

“Sam, we can’t just leave!”

Picked one close on Ikoma’s heels, and fired.

“Shrapnel!” Carter had Daniel by one shoulder as Kibito hastily unharnessed them both. “Trust the colonel. He’ll get them in-”

Boots rang on the hatch ladder. Kurusu waited a half-breath for Kibito to unhitch his own harness, then picked off another Kabane just behind Teal’c’s blast. As he’d hoped, the flailing arms of the one still alive tangled the body, leaving a knot for the rest of the horde to get around.

_Buy them seconds. It’s all they need_.

Kibito’s heavier feet stopped halfway down the hatch rungs; his fellow bushi huffed. “Get in already! We’re going to need you at the top of the side ladder.”

Kurusu’s gaze flicked grimly between running allies, and charging foes. The water lapping over the tracks would slow anything human, but Hozumi was _running_ , not bounding ahead....

_The offworlders are inside, and steel is thick. They won’t hear._

“They’re tired,” Kurusu bit out. Picked more shots one after another; one of them ahead of the four this time, dropping a Kabane Hozumi wasn’t quite in position to hit without extra effort. “Warm towels for the Kabaneri. _Large ones_.”

_Large enough to conceal the veins. Just in case_.

The way Kibito’s breath hissed between his teeth, his fellow bushi knew exactly what he meant. “Right!”

One more shot - a few more sloshing strides from the four making desperately for the Koutetsujou - and Kurusu dropped through the top hatch, steam rifle slung over his shoulder as he cranked it closed. They weren’t near the left-hand side ladder yet, but they’d almost reached the point of the prow, with all its weight of steel to put between them and the most likely spray of shrapnel, and the horde was now swarming _between_ the locomotive and the wrecked car. If he read O’Neill right the colonel would be setting off the explosion right about-

_Crrrrrump_.

* * *

 

Jack bared chattering teeth behind his bandana, listening to unearthly shrieks as the gray hordes behind them absorbed flying metal splinters. From a particular metallic _spang_ , there was now at least one less Kabane hot on their heels. Lucky shot.

Good thing, because Mumei wasn’t running any faster than they were, now.

_Damn. Faster, stronger, yeah - but whatever super-stuff she’s got, she just doesn’t have_ endurance.

...Not that he could talk, stumbling as much as wading through icy knee-deep water. Deep enough to have a _current_ , a car in this stuff would be sailing downstream; if it weren’t for Teal’c at his shoulder he’d have been down three times already. And eep, time to look sharp, the washout should be just about-

Mumei yelped, light rippling over the brass of her headgear as the rush of water over the edge caught her mid-thigh. Pink leather flashed in the headlamps, and vanished.

_Oh hell knee-deep on me’s a lot deeper on her-!_

In one swift move, Ikoma clipped the piercing gun to his belt, and skidded down after her.

Teal’c slowed. “O’Neill-”

“Keep moving!” _Hate this, hate this, hate it_ \- “We’ll cover ‘em as much as we can, but from the ladder!”

One dark nod, and Teal’c forged on.

_We’ll cover them from the ladder_.

Yeah sure you betcha. Only it wouldn’t hurt to add in one or two shots right... _now_.

* * *

 

_Why did they make the side-grade so steep-!_

In the back of his head a steamsmith’s calculations ran with what Ikoma knew about hayajiro and the tracks inside Aragane, and concluded the sides of this railbed probably hadn’t been half this sharp an incline... twenty years ago. Two decades without more maintenance than hasty stops by other hayajiro to dump gravel or straighten a rail had obviously taken a toll.

Right now the only things that mattered were the rail-tie he was hanging onto and the typhoon waters trying to sweep him down into the horde below, gray and debris-filled and one quick flash of brass-

_There!_

He lunged, grabbing for the back of her belt, just beside the canister. Best hold he could get - and _not_ near the neck. Cold shut down the brain; he’d studied that as one option for blocking the virus before calculating that he just wouldn’t be able to get enough ice. He didn’t know if Hozumi’s Kabane would try to keep her body fighting, but with her eyes and nose full of water she wouldn’t know more than _another heart near_. And he was not interested in getting _shot_.

No gun fired. She was limp as he pulled her up the gravel slope, a sodden weight on his shoulder.

_No. Please, no_. “Mumei!” Ignoring the howls closing in and the torrent still trying to wash them both away, Ikoma thumped her back once. Again.

Nothing. Just trickling water.

Oh, and gunshots. O’Neill’s gun. Meaning the idiot was still outside the Koutetsujou with the horde closing in, and Yukina knew Kabaneri could jump aboard but humans couldn’t, meaning the Koutetsujou wasn’t moving-!

_Drowned and cold keeps the brain going longer than drowned and warm, move!_

Snatching one of Hozumi’s guns, Ikoma gritted his teeth, tossed her over his shoulders, and dug one hand into waterlogged gravel. And climbed.

* * *

 

_The engineer. Can shoot. Oh boy_.

Which... actually made sense, Jack thought in flickers while he retreated up a _very_ steep steel ladder and tried not to get munched on. Anybody so determined to kill Kabane he’d built a hand-held pile-driver to do it - Kurusu’d probably gotten the guy shooting out of sheer self-preservation.

And damn, but Sword Guy had known _exactly_ what he was doing, sending the cranky engineer out into this mess. Because along with the shots came up half-gloved fingers, latching onto the steel rail to pull Ikoma and one very waterlogged gun-toting waif up against all the force of flooding water.

_Stubborn as a leatherneck, yikes._ Jack fired a few more shots as he finally made it to the rain-slippery balcony halfway up the locomotive. _Doesn’t look like she’s moving. Not good_ -

“Get inside!”

Ah. Kurusu was lurking in the corner of the platform, furious and armed, like any good sword-rifle-ninja. And Teal’c had already vanished inside. Smart; the staff weapon had range, but it wasn’t something you wanted to fire too close to the good guys. “She went into the water,” Jack called over the gunfire. “They need help-”

“They’ll make it.” Kurusu’s eyes were blue ice. _“Get inside.”_

* * *

 

Teeth found his arm, and Ikoma snarled, twisting to tear loose. Damn it, _damn_ it, trying to fight when he knew there were outsiders watching-!

“Ikoma!” A shot rang out, picking off the Kabane most directly between him and the Koutetsujou. “Fight!”

_Kurusu_.

And he wasn’t hearing the offworld weapons anymore.

_Live now, Kurusu can threaten them all later_ -

It was such a terrifying relief, striking out with his full strength. Fangs shattered. Bones broke. At least one gray neck snapped.

...Not that that would kill a Kabane, but damn it, not having working eyes at least slowed it down.  

He wasn’t up to Hozumi’s grasshopper leaps, but the Koutetsujou was _so close_. Two bounds and a dash, one-

The jarring must have knocked something loose. Hozumi coughed, warm water splashing over his shoulder. Wheezed, lungs heaving.

_Breathing. Good_.

One bitten hand found the ladder-

Slipped, blood slick on his fingers, as howling bodies tried to tear him down.

_No_.

Letting Hozumi’s gun drop and dangle, he pulled the piercing gun.

* * *

 

_They’ll get in_ , Yukina told herself firmly, scanning dials and gauges as she kept the Koutetsujou idling at active ready. _If someone has to toss them a line from the last car - if Kurusu has to go back on one of the damn bikes - they’ll get in_.

Of course they would. If Ikoma and Hozumi had proved anything about Kabaneri, it was that given even half a chance, they were darn near unkillable.

And it was so much easier to think about those two’s chances against a swarming horde than the Koutetsujou’s. The gunfire had slowed at times, but never stopped. “Nidai. The car?”

“It moved.” There was cautious relief in her second’s voice, as the dark-haired steamsmith swung the periscope to study the damage. “Not much, I think an arm-span....”

“It moved,” Yukina stated. “O’Neill wasn’t lying about their explosives.” Not that anyone sane should ever lie about explosives in the middle of a horde. But after Biba, none of them could ever take that for granted again.

“Hmm.” Nidai wiped sweat off his glasses, and went back to the scope. Not one word about how a man right about one thing could be wrong about others, or how risky this was, or the horrible flaming or fanged deaths that awaited if their plan went wrong. Both of them knew it all already.

_We got through Kongokaku. We’ll get through this_ -

“Pressure rising!” Suzuki called out from above, where he’d been watching the barometer like a blond hawk. “Eyewall must be coming toward us!”

Nidai swallowed hard. Yukina stiffened in her chair. If they were almost out of the eye, the winds were about to gust again. They were running out of time....

“They’re on!” Kajika’s voice rang over the speaking tubes.

“Hunters loading!” Ayame’s followed swift on her heels. “Uryuu, Sukari... confirmed, Hunters aboard!”

“Launching!” Yukina pulled hard. “Reverse!”

* * *

 

_They’re so cold!_

Kajika wrapped warmed cloth all around Hozumi, making sure to pull dark folds forward in a hood to cover any trace of red veins in ice-pale skin. Ikoma was conscious enough to wrap his own towels, thank goodness. She only hoped none of O’Neill’s team had gotten a glimpse of the blood.

_They shouldn’t have, they’re across the cabin, Kibito made sure they huddled_ away _from the door. We want jet bullets to hold this hatch, not just knockback_.

As Kurusu was doing right now, firing out a slit near the hatch to clear the last hitchhikers who’d latched onto the ladder after Ikoma.

Kajika held her breath a moment, and deliberately breathed out. Kabaneri healed fast. As long as they could keep the bites out of sight a few hours, it’d be easy to explain away any blood as from the horde-

Kibito caught her as the Koutetsujou surged backward. “Sit down!”

Not like she had much choice; Yukina had the hayajiro picking up speed, and the next part of the plan made Kajika want to _hide_. “But they need-” _Don’t say it!_ “Help.” Because they were so _cold_. And Hozumi was still coughing up a little water, and not really awake... and when Ikoma had been not-awake....

Kibito glanced over them both, with a raised brow that said the veins weren’t nearly as visible as she was afraid they might be. “Ikoma?”

“I’m okay,” Ikoma got out faintly. “Just... tired.”

“Hot tea,” Kibito suggested, as the Koutetsujou hit a slight bump, and kept accelerating backward. “Lots of honey.”

_Lots of- Oh. Oh!_ Kajika blushed. Right. She could smell the bitter hot drink Carter had made from some kind of “instant powder” for her own team. _Everyone_ would want sweet tea after getting soaked to the bone. It wouldn’t look strange at all.

And if she slipped the pair extra bamboo tubes, well, the offworlders were too cold to think much about it. Especially if they brought in soup, too.

“After we get past the next thump,” Kibito amended. “We don’t want hot tea spraying everywhere.”

“No,” Kajika agreed, swallowing hard. Knowing Ikoma and Hozumi were going out into a horde again had been hard enough. What came next-

_Please let Yukina know what she’s doing!_

* * *

 

Oooh, coffee coffee coffee, hot coffee Sam had loaded with _all_ the sugar, he was never laughing at Danny’s obsession with it again-

“Wait,” Daniel croaked; outer jacket stripped off and warm cloth wrapped around him, but still shivering. No surprise; Sam was huddled in her own borrowed fabric, and even Teal’c had a quiver or two. “We’re going to _what?_ ”

Jack clung to his thermos, breathing hot vapors of caffeine straight into chilled lungs. Wow, forget anything he’d ever said about clunky heavy-iron tech. Steam pipes were _awesome_. All the hot water right when you needed it. And, of course, coffee. “Did you miss that part?”

Nose buried in her own drink, Sam stifled a snicker.

Gripping the thermos lid for his own mug, Daniel gave them all sidelong looks of total archaeologist exasperation. “I was more worried about you two walking into a _slavering infectious horde_ , sue me. We’re actually going to-?”

Steel screeched, as the whole hayajiro shuddered, slowing. Gunfire broke out again; sporadic, and... not echoing from above and below like it had during the fight. More on the same level they were. Joy.

_Using the firing ports_ , Jack thought. _Probably picking off the ones trying to jump for us_.

The ones the Koutetsujou hadn’t just run over. Man, he would not want to be on the clean-up crew underneath the train after this mess....

Slower, and... the shiver of steel as the whole hayajiro stopped. Lovely. “Ah,” Jack observed; trying for cool, professional calm, even as his heart raced. “Must be far enough for a running start.”  

Sipping his own diluted coffee, Teal’c raised one hairless brow.

Daniel blinked. Gulped. “Oh no.”

Jack waggled his eyebrows, and shared a deliberate manic grin with his 2IC. Because this was either going to work or blow up spectacularly, and either way they were going to have one hell of a story to tell back at the SGC. If they lived. “Oh _yes_.”

Steel almost seemed to glide forward, at first, steam chuffing softly. Then louder. Faster. Faster.

_Chuff. Chuff. Chuff-chuff-chuff-chuffffff... ratttllllle_....

The speaking tubes rang with their determined conductor’s voice. _“Brace for impact!”_

One-handed, Jack gripped onto a leather handhold. The other was busy. With coffee-

Even wedged against his team, the impact made his neck cry foul.

_Locomotive has to out-mass any regular car at least twice, only reason we’re still breathing_ -

The awful _screech_ of steel-on-steel drove any other thoughts out of his head.

_Ow ow ow, oh please let the maps be right about that curve-!_

Gravity pulled at their left, the screech sliding down the scale into an awful groan. And then there was another screeching, fainter, and the rattling grate of steel-on-gravel, right and hopefully down....  

Fainter. And fainter, as gunfire kept up; slower and more organized, now. _Clearing off the strays_ , Jack thought wryly.

But that was the only noise, now. Steel and iron were still rattling around them, but almost calmly; the normal clang-and-bang they’d first heard racing out of Keishi.

_Son of a gun, did we really-?_

_“Obstruction cleared!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wind and water are some of the most highly underrated dangers on the planet. Wind at hurricane speeds - Kurusu is not joking about a leafstem taking out an eye. Hurricane winds can drive straws through trees, peel a roof off a house like the shell off a boiled egg, or shove whole freighter ships over a dock, a road, and a concrete barrier into someone’s front lawn. Post-Hurricane Ivan we had to answer the phone ringing next door... and tell the person calling that no, we weren’t the owners, and we didn’t have a key. The phone still worked but the house around it _wasn’t there anymore._
> 
> Water? It takes only six inches of fast-moving flood water to flood out a car’s electrical systems or knock over an adult human being. Twelve inches will carry away the vast majority of cars. Two feet? SUVs and trucks are going downstream, fast. Do not wade through moving floodwaters up to your knees. It is an _extremely bad idea._
> 
> This fic falls under Acceptable Breaks From Reality and Hero Insurance. Do not assume you are covered in Real Life....


	8. A Nice Quiet Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our heroes have a nice, quiet breather.
> 
> Really.
> 
> ...Why does nobody believe me....

Rust-water, summer flowers, and a hot spiciness that had to be the tea. Ikoma breathed in the scent first, making sure to blow on the surface of the bamboo cup before he drank, like anyone else. Heat tolerance could be a dead giveaway.

_Wish I knew why everything tastes different_.

Something to ask Hozumi about, later. For now, what mattered was getting in enough honey-water to keep his head on straight, and then enough blood to make sure O’Neill’s people noticed nothing.

Ikoma took a long sip of tea, matching Kajika and a still-shivering Hozumi, and smiled. There was a warmth to the drink that didn’t have anything to do with steam. Maybe Kabaneri did have to live on blood; at least until he could figure out why they needed that, and water, and almost nothing else.

But they could still share tea together. It was nice to have something warm. Something human.

Lowering her cup, Kajika tugged at his arm. “Come on. Let’s all bundle up; you two are still too cold!”

Oh, nice. More blankets, and Kajika reaching an arm over Hozumi’s cough-shaken shoulders to tug the three of them into one slowly warming tangle.

And that was human, too.

* * *

Carefully working the kinks out of his abused neck, Jack cast a casual glance toward the pile of scrounged blankets and shivers. Mumei seemed to be sitting up and mostly alert, if still coughing. And it looked like Ikoma and Kajika were trading off helping her with hot drinks. Kibito had already stripped off his armor, waiting until Kurusu took one last cranky shot to move in and rough-dry his commander. Starting with that wet mop currently masquerading as hair.

Since a guy could lose a fair percent of his precious body heat through his head, Jack had to admit that was a good call. Offworld samurai manners and honor had nothing to do with it.

Probably.

Then again, given the mutual cute blushes and Kibito’s hidden not-grin at Kurusu and Lady Ayame, maybe not.

Or maybe the hair was just an easy place to start looking for bumps, nicks, and scratches of the potentially infected kind. Kibito had already looked SG-1 over, given Sam hadn’t had a chance to get hurt anywhere R-rated. And now he was doing the same for Kurusu. The way blankets were shifting about across the way and Ikoma was deliberately looking another direction, Kajika was just getting done doing that for Mumei.

And now she was checking Ikoma behind his own blankets. Huh. How well did those two know each other?

“The first car’s waiting for you. They’ll have soup.”

Daniel jumped. Jack just raised an eyebrow at Sukari; steam rifle over his shoulder, but blond hair still short, wavy, and not a bit damp. “Where were you, and why are you so dry?”

“Under the locomotive with Uryuu,” Sukari shrugged. “A few Kabane got close enough to try for the undercarriage.”

Er. Well.

_Man, it’s like trying to take a whole military convoy downrange_ , Jack thought, trading glances with his grim team as they all drained more coffee. _With a refugee caravan mixed in, and endless angry hordes trying to take them down. And they’re doing it with, what, maybe thirty-odd trained soldiers and a bunch of armed civilians? Ouch_.

Mind, armed civilians like Ikoma were apparently no easy bit to chew on. Fortunately.

And the Koutetsujou had made it so far, hurricane and all. But if they didn’t get to safe territory for some rest soon, someone was going to slip. Given that would leave SG-1 up the proverbial creek without even a boat, much less a paddle, Jack meant to _do something_ about that.

_Just as soon as I figure out what_.

Sukari took in the team’s silence, and... well, it wasn’t a smile. More a sardonic twitch of very tired lips. “I’ve been there before.”

Sam sat up straight, almost losing a drop of coffee. “Wait. Yashiro Station, that bit about something stuck in the accelerator-”

“Linkage bar.” Sukari _almost_ shuddered, with the distant stare Jack associated with an SGC airman thinking of near-misses of the snaky kind. “Kabane bones are worse than iron. Iron would have bent.”

Teal’c frowned. “Kurusu’s blade has cut Kabane spines.”

Sukari nodded; and that was _definitely_ a wry smile. “One of these days, we want to figure out how that coating works. Right now I’m just glad Ikoma came up with it.” He glanced over the whole team. “You don’t know anything about hayajiro in-transit, so... Yukina and Lady Ayame went over the maps. There’s a bridge ahead we should be able to make it to. Where we can stop and ride out the storm.”

Jack didn’t have to look to feel his team’s aghast stare. “On a bridge.” When typhoon rain was already flooding places, and who knew what wind and debris washed downstream would do to the poor abused bridge supports.

Sukari didn’t look away. “A river-wide bridge. The Koutetsujou should fit... and we’ll only have to guard the two ends.”

From the ravening Kabane hordes who really didn’t _care_ about winds that would drive any sane critter to shelter. “Okay, point,” Jack allowed. “But what happens if some other hayajiro comes the other way?”

“That’s what signals are for,” Sukari said dryly. “And we’re coming _from Keishi_. The odds of anyone going down the tracks toward us are... small.”

Jack had to raise an eyebrow, because that was a snicker from the archaeologist beside him. Which, yeah, chances of anyone being crazy enough to go toward the zombie apocalypse epicenter were probably Slim, son of None. Though given the amount of crazy under Ayame’s command, definitely not _zero_.

But the fact Danny was snickering about it was clear sign the guy was just a little punchy. And if their chief linguist and first-encounter-specialist was so tired he was giggling around people they’d just met a few hours ago... granted, a few _very busy_ hours ago....

Yeah. His team needed shuteye. Soon.

_“Your attention, everyone,”_ Ayame’s voice came over the speaking tubes. “ _The atmospheric pressure is still rising; our steamsmiths say this is a good sign that the storm is moving through. It may even be gone by morning. For now, our conductor has located a river bridge within a short run from here where we can take shelter to wait out the storm.”_ Her voice lightened. _“And if the winds die by dawn, we might even get in some fishing!”_

Daniel and Sam traded glances. Eyed Jack. And snickered. Teal’c... sighed.

“What?” Jack shrugged, almost innocently. “What can I say? These are my kind of people.”

“You fish?” Sukari’s tone had wary hints of, _why would anyone mess with those scaly things when they could work on nice oily gears instead?_ “What do you know about catfish?”

“Plenty,” Jack started to say-

Daniel’s elbow thumped his ribs. Not hard enough to jar iron and steel bruises, just getting his attention.

“-About the ones back home,” Jack amended. “But, you know, one river’s not like another. Any local fishers I can ask about bait?”

* * *

Kurusu watched the hatch lock spin home after Sukari and O’Neill’s team, as the offworlders headed toward a hero’s welcome in the first car. A well-deserved welcome; he would admit that freely. Without O’Neill’s skills and explosives the Koutetsujou would have been in dire straits. They would have had to reverse and head for more risky tracks; rails that had far more switchbacks, or more washouts already labeled on the map. They’d have lost days of time trying to make for Shitori Station. Days hungry, panicked refugees could not afford.

The offworlders had done their part, and shared their risks. They deserved honor. And trust.

...To a point.

“They’re gone.” Kurusu did not sigh in relief. But he could finally lower his guard. A hair. “How serious is it?”

Ikoma did sigh, still mostly hidden under blankets. “It’s not that- ow!”

“Hold still,” Kajika ordered. “I’ve almost got the last one tied.”

Kurusu traded his scowl for Kibito’s worried glance. Given how hard Kabaneri were to injure in the first place.... “How serious?”

Ikoma pulled back the makeshift hood with a bandaged hand, skin back to its usual pallor. “A few bites. They should be gone in a couple hours.”

Hozumi flopped dramatically back against the wall, just under a folded bunk. “You _always_ get bitten.”

“Not always.” Ikoma wrinkled his nose right back at her, for all the world like an exasperated older brother. “I didn’t get bitten in Keishi.”

Hozumi huffed. “Okay. Once.”

“Or in Kongokaku,” Ikoma forged onwards.

That earned him the younger Kabaneri’s eye-roll. “Oh, come _on_.”

“It is true,” Kurusu interjected dryly. Ikoma had been stabbed, shot, flung about in a near-fatal fight with Biba, and nearly mowed down by a hayajiro. But not bitten.

Hozumi heaved a put-upon sigh. “Okay. _Twice_.”

“Or outside Shitori with the Hunters,” Ikoma stated, adjusting his glasses in a grumpy flash of green. “Or in the mountains.... What’s so funny?”

Kajika was giggling between them; a laugh half a hiccup from tears. “You two-!” Reaching out, she pulled Hozumi into a tight hug. Held it for two long breaths, then let go, and gripped Ikoma just as fiercely. “You’re alive. You came back _alive_.”

“We’re Kabaneri.” Hozumi lifted her head proudly. Coughed again, and took another swallow of warming tea. “One horde’s not enough to kill us.”

“One horde, no.” Kibito eyed the closed hatch again. Straightened along with Kurusu, and nodded respectfully to their lady as Ayame came up the stairs to see them alive with her own eyes. “A horde and a typhoon? That could kill anybody.”

Trading murmured words on _almost drowned_ with Kajika, Ayame winced. “Let’s hope this is the only storm this year.”

No bushi pinned a battle-plan on hope. But there was a more immediate danger than the storm....

And it seemed Ikoma could read his scowl too well. The steamsmith sat up; still chilled, but focused. “Did they see anything?”

“No,” Kurusu stated, certain. O’Neill’s team had seen more than enough of Kabane; if they had glimpsed a hint of veins, he would have caught their flinch. “But it is likely O’Neill, at least, will be suspicious.”

Hozumi frowned at him as if he’d suggested fan-dances on the prow. “Why? If they didn’t see anything....”

“O’Neill is an experienced soldier.” Kurusu gathered them all with a look, taking in Kibito’s worry, Kajika’s wide eyes, and Ayame’s quiet frown; a noble calculating odds and the maneuvers of men. “He will know no one breaks free of a mob easily - or without injury.”

“But we did.” Ikoma pulled the blankets a little tighter. “At least, we looked like we did.”

Kibito let out a slow breath, glancing from the Kabaneri to the corner O’Neill’s team had been in, likely going over again exactly what they could have seen. “We covered as well as we could. But... he’s going to wonder.”

One more cough, and Hozumi settled towels around her like a grumpy tent. “So what do we do?”

Ayame crouched to rest a hand on her shoulder, smiling at the younger girl. “For now, we don’t do anything.”

Kajika disentangled herself from one layer of blankets, taking Hozumi’s cup in trade for a red-banded tube. “Lady Ayame...?”

“Let him come to us.” Ayame straightened. “Once we know what the colonel thinks happened, then we can,” she hesitated, less than half a breath, “tell him what we need to of the truth.”  

Hozumi drained her tube, lowering it with a sigh of relief. Chased immediately by a frown. “You’re going to tell him about Kabaneri?”

Kurusu shook his head once, feeling still-damp hair against his neck. “No.”

Hozumi tapped one finger against bamboo, almost trying to stare him down. “You’re confusing.”

“It’s not that confusing.” Ikoma shrugged, a multicolored shift of warm fabric. “Think it through. Tell them about Kabaneri? They’re from another _world_. And they’re scared to death of the Kabane.” Green brows dipped behind glass as he frowned. “More scared than we are, I think.”

“As they should be,” Kurusu declared, trying once more to envision the form of the world O’Neill came from, where entire nations might breathe without fear of a living death. The world Ikoma wished to create for them all. “We live and fight knowing the Kabane exist. If they speak the truth, an entire planet lies untouched by the virus. Unknowing. Unwarned. And defenseless.”

“As defenseless as Keishi,” Ayame said softly.

Hozumi tensed. Kajika sucked in a breath.

“But I don’t think they’re that terrified,” Ayame went on thoughtfully, meeting Ikoma’s gaze. “They _are_ afraid of the Kabane. Yet from what you’ve all told me, from what I’ve seen - they’re afraid of the hordes as an enemy. An enemy they didn’t know how to kill before, but one they know _can_ be killed. An _enemy_. Not an unstoppable curse that will swallow the world.”

Some of Ikoma’s tension seemed to unwind. “...You think you could tell them the truth.”

“Not all of it,” Ayame allowed. “And not right away. But so long as we can keep them from shooting on _reflex_ \- I think they might listen.”

Hozumi snorted, and fluffed her blankets again. “So what if they shoot? Their guns won’t work.”

“If they were bushi, no,” Kibito said wryly. “But on O’Neill’s world, you shoot Kabane-things in the _head_.”

Ayame shuddered. Kajika curled tighter against Ikoma’s side, as if her touch could make him safe. With good reason, Kurusu knew. The human mind was all that kept a Kabaneri not a Kabane. Damage that-

Kurusu winced, mentally turning away from memories of Kongokaku, and where he’d seen the Hunter snipers aim before he’d cut them down. They’d _meant_ to shoot Ikoma in the head.

So far as those of the Koutetsujou knew, Kabane bodies healed. But whatever unnatural forces mended transformed flesh, it would have no reason to heal a living, _human_ brain.

Hozumi frowned, evidently thinking back on what she’d seen of O’Neill’s aim. “He could do it, too.”

Ikoma shook his head, as if he’d been chewing on the thought and had to spit it out. “What kind of person does that? It’s no good at killing Kabane, just-!”

“Other humans,” Kurusu said flatly.

He expected a protest. A bristling, at least; Ikoma fought so fiercely for every life, even those who would slay him if they knew what he was.

He did not expect a wince, and a slump of blanketed shoulders. “...Right.”

Not good. Not good at all. When _Ikoma_ wanted to turn away from other people- “What happened?”

Ayame straightened, giving him a look of steely command. “You were busy organizing the defense of the Koutetsujou. But now that we are moving again... it seems my uncle will be forced to decide what to do with one of Kongokaku who was in quarantine, who has now gone mad.”

Oh.

Oh kami, that was the _last_ thing they needed. Kurusu almost wished the man had fallen to the infection instead. Convincing a station to take in refugees was hard enough. One whose mind had broken? Elder Dogen was probably cursing their names that Hidemi was still alive....

Kurusu eyed the steamsmith yet again. If the man was _alive_ \- why did Ikoma look guilty?

Kajika frowned, brushing her friend’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? You tried not to hurt him.”

“I tried.” Ikoma’s voice was low. “But... I don’t know. Maybe I’m the reason he’s crazy.”

Hozumi snorted. Kajika started, obviously working herself up to a furious denial that Ikoma could do any such thing-!  

Ayame lifted a hand. “That doesn’t sound likely. Why would you think that?”

Ikoma opened his mouth; closed it again, and shook his head. “It’s going to sound weird.”

Kibito traded a wry glance with Kurusu that all but said, _Kabaneri_. “What doesn’t, these days?”

Apparently that was reassurance enough. Ikoma blew out a breath. “I was trying to see the butterflies.”

“The... butterflies?” Kajika wondered.

“The Kabane,” Hozumi nodded, curious. “When we’re dreaming, they’re like red butterflies. Or when I was in the Nue... all those red Kabane, but Ikoma was _blue_.”

Kurusu took in that note of exasperated disbelief, and inclined his head. “As was his heart-glow, when we came for you.” As was the glow of a Nue, buried deep in the heart of a Fused Colony. Was that the Black Blood? Or something more?

“Really? _Huh_.” Hozumi chewed that over, then frowned at Ikoma again. “How could you try to see them? You weren’t sleeping in the quarantine car!”

Ikoma crossed blanket-wrapped arms with a huff. “Of course not.”

Kurusu kept a perfectly straight face, even as Kibito stifled a snicker. If anyone could sleep in quarantine, it would be Ikoma. For him, the worst had already happened. All a Kabane could do now was kill him.

“I was just... dozing a little. Like trying to design something, when you don’t know what will work. We need some kind of stoppers on the rifles to keep them from getting yanked out-” Ikoma cut himself off, and brushed back that lock of white hair. “I thought, maybe if I could just hover there, where you’re thinking but not _thinking_ , maybe I could see them. Like dreaming awake?”

Thinking but not- “You were meditating?” Kurusu demanded. Bushi learned that, but it wasn’t a steamsmith practice. At least, so far as he knew.

“Kind of? Maybe?” Ikoma waved it off. “It... didn’t exactly work. Mostly, I kept just seeing sparks....”

Kurusu listened, intent, as the steamsmith haltingly described persistent red sparks that he’d chased down and crushed with blue. Over and over, struggling to kill the last-

“And then I saw the horde,” Ikoma finished. “I got its attention.”

“The Koutetsujou would have done that,” Kibito reflected, trading a glance with Ayame. “We’re not quiet.”

“But that’s not what you’re worried about,” Kajika put in. “You think those sparks were in Hidemi.”

“They had to be somewhere. The virus goes after the brain, not just the heart.” Ikoma wasn’t meeting anyone’s eyes. “I don’t even know if I did anything, but if I hurt his brain-”

“If you did, he was already infected, and you saved two lives,” Kurusu cut him off. “It may yet be three. Hidemi could recover, given time. That will be Elder Dogen’s place to decide.”

Inwardly he was shaken. If a contaminated wound could be cleansed, a slow infection halted in its tracks-

_We could save lives. If it was real, and no dream_.

Most of the others were as wide-eyed as he felt. Only Hozumi looked dubious. “Kabaneri can’t do that!”

“Kabaneri,” Kurusu said dryly, “cannot hurl an entire hayajiro through the sky by force of will alone. Ikoma did.”

“Only with the Black Blood,” Ikoma said swiftly.

“But that was supposed to enhance what... what the Kabane inside you could do.” Kajika glanced from Ikoma to Kurusu. “So if you could move something really big then, and make it explode - why couldn’t you blow up something really small now? Aren’t viruses really, really small?”

“Really small,” Ikoma confirmed, blinking as if dazed. “Not as small as atoms are supposed to be, but too small to see with magnifying lenses. Even when you put together a whole series of them.” He gazed into the distance, as if staring at an unpleasant memory. “Don’t try looking through them at green water. It’s creepy.”

Ayame brightened. “I’ve seen sketches of the animalcules! Father would bring out the prints whenever-” She drew a flinching breath, but forged on. “Whenever someone on the council of Elders would want to cut funding for sanitation and water purifying.” She squared her shoulders, a rustle of violet. “That’s a good thing about being on a hayajiro. We can boil everything.”

Hozumi was looking between them as if everyone had lost their minds. “It doesn’t matter how small the infection is. We can’t just stop it. It’s not how Kabaneri work!” Her eyes were too bright, holding back tears. “If just _wanting_ to could make it stop....”

_We might not have lost Shion_ , Kurusu finished silently. _And her child_.

_Hozumi wouldn’t have had to kill them_.

“We don’t know what the Black Blood did to us.” Ikoma put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “And I don’t know if I did anything.” He frowned. “But ... I did see the horde. And after Hidemi was bound, I stopped thinking about Chie and Keisuke. I wasn’t worried about them anymore.” He glanced at the bushi. “Would someone check if they’re okay?”

* * *

It was the quiet that woke Jack up in the morning. No howling winds, no hammering rain; none of the creaks and clacks of the Koutetsujou barreling down the tracks away from the latest disaster. Just the murmurs of a hundred-odd people going about their business in the early morning, punctuated by laughter and a splash that sounded like it had to be a good thirty feet below them.

Which was good. Water below, fine. Water flooding the tracks, not fine.

Taking a deep breath of lovely rain-free air, Jack rocked his head gingerly side to side. Ow. Not too bad an ow, but sleeping cramped up with Daniel on a hard foldaway cot with only a dry shirt and part of their gear as a pillow always led to achy mornings after. Though, hey, at least it was a bed. Compared to ha’tak prison quarters this was the lap of luxury.

His storm-achy joints weren’t buying it. Ow.

He cracked open one eye at a time, deliberately taking his time waking up. Yesterday had been exhausting for everybody, SG-1 were still strangers to these people, and there were kids running around. Better to take a few extra seconds to get oriented than risk an aftershock of adrenaline firing off combat reflexes. Because they were _not_ in combat, or he’d be hearing a hell of a lot more gunfire about now. Kurusu’s bushi were _good_.

...Unless Dogen’s Kongokaku had gotten the drop on them in the night. Which, again, he’d have heard gunfire, or at least slicey.

_Oh hi there, post-combat paranoia. We’ve got to stop meeting like this_.

Deep breath. Daniel was still sleeping the sleep of the just archaeologist beside him, tucked up against the armored hull, but his eyebrows were making those little squinches that meant his brain was considering joining the land of the vertical, or at least the Quest for Coffee. And on the bunk below, Jack could hear a bitten-off swear that sounded like Sam had just found out the hard way how much you ached after fighting a hurricane.

Stretching out some of the crackles, Jack indulged his inner ten-year-old, and peeked over the edge of the bunk upside-down. “Everything still in one piece, Major?”

Sam blinked at him cross-eyed. Wrinkled her nose, and pulled on a fair approximation of a straight face. “I think I’d know if I were missing pieces, sir. They’d be the only places that didn’t hurt.”

_Not going to laugh. Not going to laugh_.

After all, it kind of wasn’t funny. Especially with Teal’c one big dark lump in the bunk beside her, dead to the world. It took a _lot_ to wear a Jaffa out.

At least the sun-orange and yellow kimono made a decent improvised kilt while their gear finished drying. Teal’c was just too solid to wear it native-style.

Pulling himself right side up again, Jack rolled his shoulders and listened to his stomach grumble. Last night’s “yay we’re not dead” soup had been hot, filling, and tasty, but it felt like he’d burned through all of it. Time to push back the indigo curtain that kept people politely ignoring them and find breakfast, and maybe a helpful local fisher guy to teach him how they fished off an armored train.

Which gave him pause for serious thought right there. “Danny.”

“Gnrgh?” That got a blink, and Daniel fumbling around for his vest and glasses.

“Danny, why would people fish off a hayajiro, instead of running like hell for the nearest station?” Yeah, yeah, nearest station might not be _there_ , Jack got that, but sometimes in the early morning Daniel put pieces together none of them had even seen yet.

“Spread out resource harvesting?” Daniel said blearily. “If there’s no station, there’s no people nearby, and there should be wild food there. Plus fish are easy. Easy to catch, easy to prepare even for people who’ve never butchered their own food; sometimes you don’t even have to cook them.” Glasses located, Daniel poked them at his face, only jabbing a cheek once before he got them settled. Not bad for pre-coffee. “Though I think everything we’ve gotten so far has been cooked. Which is good, the last thing we need is to pick up local parasites everyone else can handle, but... I think there might be another reason.”

“Like a Kabane floating downriver reason,” Jack said dryly.

“If it acts like a virus - I don’t think drinking river water outside the walls is a great idea,” Daniel nodded. “Even if they think dead Kabane aren’t contagious - they sink. How would you know if one was drowning right where you dropped a bucket?”

Ew. And, practical. “Boiled water time, check,” Jack agreed.

Daniel yawned. Grimaced a little, the way Jack knew meant either _I miss my toothbrush_ or _coffee is required_. Probably both. “That must have been how Ikoma got Mumei back. They could fight the water. The Kabane - couldn’t.”

Aha. Yeah. There was what Jack knew he’d missed last night, in the wake of being cold and wind-battered and way too close to eaten. “Must have been?” Jack echoed, nerves prickling.

“Well, yeah,” Daniel shrugged. “I mean, we’ve all been mobbed before. When the Touched grabbed me-” He cut himself off; Jack could almost hear the gears grind to a halt as Daniel deliberately shut down that train of thought. As who wouldn’t, remembering how a spreading virus had slammed their brain back to pre-caveman levels. Jack didn’t have to look to know Sam was wincing right along with them. That had been sincerely not fun. And when one of the best parts of the week had been knowing that Janet and Teal’c would make sure the SGC went up in flames before the virus could breach the Mountain....

Yeah. Nobody liked the Land of Light, even if they had had a happy ending.

“We were fortunate.” Teal’c sat up with a dark majesty only slightly dented by the way he had to duck to fit under the top bunk. “Janet Fraiser has informed me it was a most straightforward virus. Once the histamines in your bodies were eliminated, your immune systems were able to purge the invader. Had it been a virus that lingered in the nerves or immune cells, she would have been, as she said, much reduced in deceptions she could wrench from her headgear.”

“Low on tricks to pull out of her hat,” Jack translated. Sometimes he swore Teal’c mangled idioms on purpose. Which, hey, an ex-First Prime of Apophis, leader of whole Goa’uld armies, he had to get his kicks somewhere. “Yeah. That would have been... bad.”

Vibration under him; Sam gripping one of the bunk supports. “Worse than the Kabane, I think.”

Jack poked his head back over the bunk edge. Because what. “Major?”

“Sir, the only thing that saved us was the Touched virus had a really short incubation period,” Sam said seriously. “People were contagious before there were any visible effects. Spread that out over a week instead of less than a day, and we’d have all scattered into Colorado Springs. Maybe the Air Force could have stopped it then, but we’d have lost a lot of people doing it.” She drew a not-quite-steady breath. “At least you can see the Kabane.”

Daniel shuddered, evidently thinking of how they’d seen too many Kabane already. “I still don’t know how Ikoma got out of that without getting bitten. Pulling Mumei up that slope, that swarm heading for the locomotive - God, he was lucky.”

“Yeah,” Jack said dryly, thinking of everything they hadn’t seen last night. “Unbelievably lucky.”

“Sir?”

“Jack?”

“O’Neill?”

Oh good, he had all their attention. “First, we find breakfast, and see where we can help out,” Jack stated, eyeing the way the curtain kept swaying as people bustled by on the other side. “Then... I’ve got some _questions_ for a crazy steamsmith.”

* * *

Elder Dogen Makino waited for the hatch to close behind him, shutting out the scent of storm-tossed river water and the faint swearing and laughter of the townsfolk hauling up fish and who knew what else. More to the point, shutting out an unhappy Kurusu and a possibly even more unhappy Naokata. Hopefully the two bushi wouldn’t kill each other before he and his niece finished their talk.

Though if it came to blows, he’d put better odds on Kurusu. Any swordsman who’d managed to cut his way through a Kabane-infested city was either more skilled or more lucky than all the Kongokaku bushi put together.

Still. There would be consequences if Naokata managed to get himself killed. Not least of which would be losing his easiest ear into the strain among his fellow survivors.

_Best to do this quickly_. “Are you well, Niece? We had quite a night.”

“Well enough. Thank you, Uncle.” If Ayame’s smile was a hair too slow to be anything but tired, it was still bright. “After all, we’ve had our typhoon. There shouldn’t be another for at least a month.”

Dogen had to laugh. It was true. Now they only had to deal with the hazards the typhoon had left behind. One of which was not so simple as a danger to the tracks. Damn it all.

Ayame caught his glance toward the rear of the hayajiro, and his sigh. “Is Hidemi any better this morning?”

“He’s stopped screaming,” Dogen said dryly. “The Hunters wouldn’t allow me within an arm’s length. They said he’s tried to bite.”

Not a flicker of a wince from his niece. Just folded hands and the merest aside glance, as something large and likely laden with fish thumped wetly against an armored hull, cars away. So the Hunters were keeping her properly informed. On the one hand, good; if Ayame was determined to take them into the service of Yomogawa and the Koutetsujou, the more they saw her as their loyal lord, the better. On the other... his niece might be willing to forgive the Hunters their atrocities because they were young, and ill-led, and the merest surviving remnant of the one force that had fought the Kabane. As those on this hayajiro were the survivors of Aragane. He could see that shared loss, that will to keep fighting, possibly binding even those murderers to a better path. But he did not trust them.

_I cannot. For my people’s sake. Aragane was lost to the Kabane alone. Kongokaku was lost to malice and betrayal, and my people_ cannot _forgive_.

He hoped Ayame understood that. She was a lord’s daughter, and Aragane’s heir; she knew the realities of power. But... she was young. So he would be a bit less subtle than he might be, were he dealing with an unrelated lord. His people’s chances of survival would be best if Ayame knew all the dangers the hayajiro faced; both from without, and within. “I could wish your people had not been quite so... efficiently merciful.”

_Niece, you have delivered me a live madman. What in the worlds do you intend me to do with him?_

From her sigh, Ayame heard those unspoken words clear as temple bells. “My people have fought to save every life from the Kabane. I could not expect them to kill him out of hand. Not when they knew Hidemi had not turned.”

“They knew,” Dogen echoed, disbelieving. Because how could they know? Surely those of Aragane, or even the Hunters, were not so arrogant as to think surviving a station’s fall had taught them infallibly who was infected and who was not-

A shiver caught him off guard. _Not Aragane_. “Your Kabaneri... can sense infections?” He’d suspected it might be the case, from the casual way those of the Koutetsujou had treated their night encounter with the Kabane days before Keishi. But it was one thing to wonder, and another to know.

“After a certain point, they can be sure,” Ayame nodded. “Within a day, so far. They know.”

A day. A _day_ , when even the most lax station kept those suspected of being Kabane in quarantine three days, to be sure. The advantages in time, in not needing to guard prisoners, in the fear lifted from those at risk from cuts or scrapes _days_ early, before a mind could break....

As Hidemi had broken.

_What do I do with him?_

Dogen breathed out, seeking a lordly calm. It would be days yet before they reached Shitori, if Shitori were still alive. Ayame had said the station had the jet bullet designs, so they stood a better chance than most. Still, days before any final decision had to be made. And there was a more pressing worry. “O’Neill’s group. Who stands behind them?”

Ayame’s lips bent in a frown. “That is difficult to say-”

“They were in the middle of Keishi, and survived. Long enough to be found,” Dogen added, thinking of hordes outside the Koutetsujou’s firing ports as they screamed down the rails. “That speaks to organization, and powerful weapons. An _army_ , my niece. And they wear uniforms of no nation I recognize. You can keep your secrets of the Kabaneri, but-”

Ayame lifted one elegant hand, shaking her head. “I know I need your advice in this, Uncle. I mean it is difficult to say, because it is hard to _believe_.” She breathed out, as if preparing to take a blow. “They claim that our ancestors came from another world, and that they came from that world to the middle of Keishi. Uncle - is it possible?”

_What_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, our heroes are sore. Between the pressure and temperature changes swept through by a hurricane, the physical effort of fighting the wind, _and_ combat on top of that - ooooouch. 
> 
> Ikoma’s an engineer, not a scientist. But he does use lenses in day to day life as a steamsmith, and if he got his hands on enough info to know the Kabane infection is a virus, I’d bet he would have at least tried to look at microbes in a drop of water. (And promptly decided boiled water to drink is an _excellent idea._ ) 
> 
> FYI, by the steam-era definition, the Kabane infection _is_ a virus - an agent that 1) causes infectious disease, 2) is too small to see with a microscope, and 3) passes through pores too small to allow bacteria through. Not that anyone has probably tried that last. Not and lived to tell the tale, at least....


	9. Net Gains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some macho, some guessing, some accuracy. And SG-1 pries out some answers.
> 
> The linguistics behind "Kabane" are not a happy thought.

Squishing ropes next to Teal’c as SG-1 helped clean and wring out the improvised nets, Jack had to shake his head. The river had swept plenty of fish into their grasp, sure. It’d also swept in plenty of debris, everything from limp bits of dead grass to stabbity branches to at least one cranky and very alive local water-snake type thing that had apparently taken offense to Earth cammo. Thank goodness for combat knives.

But nobody was complaining. Well, not outside the usual hard-work grumbles of _take your share of the weight, catch that you ham-handed idiot_ , or _damn, we’re going to have to patch that hole when it’s drier_.

That level of not-complaining, among people who’d been townsfolk up until a few weeks ago, implied people had stared hunger in the face way too often. Nobody was starving, the kids and old folks he’d seen all looked like someone was making sure they got enough to get by, but nobody was complaining about lingering in Kabane-haunted territory long enough to make sure they had the next meal, either.

Nobody on the first car, anyway. He didn’t know how the Kongokaku down at the fourth car were taking things. Damn few of them were even coming out to catch a little sun along the railings, and those who did were skittish as feral cats in a barnyard.

A flicker of quiet movement in the corner of his eye; Jack turned to catch a clear view of silvery hair over a too-young face. A smirking face. And there was something long and suspiciously leathery in one of the Hunter’s half-gloved hands. “Uryuu. What’s up?”

 _Chomp_.

“Uh.” Daniel adjusted his glasses, leaving drops of river water behind, as Uryuu chewed with deliberate relish. “Is that-?”

“Your colonel said he didn’t want it.” Uryuu stripped off another mouthful of snake-oid, taking a moment to deliberately suck on the bones of the vestigial legs.

Ah, teenage macho _did_ exist on this planet. Jack had been worried, given the complete and utter ignoring of pretty strange lady majors while nekkid.

Granted, killer superzombie infections. Still.

Somehow it did not surprise Jack in the least that Uryuu was the snake-eating type. Give the kid a couple years to get legal age, he’d make a damn fine Ranger. Sneak anywhere you could, annihilate anything you couldn’t sneak past.

And on top of that, enough self-confidence not to get ticked off when it was clear his slithery snack hadn’t made SG-1 turn more than a hair. Uryuu just grinned, and kept on munching.

“Doubt you came out here for a snack.” Jack wrung a little more water out of tough rope, then stepped aside as one of the townsfolk who actually seemed to know what they were doing started gathering up this section in organized bunches of netting. “Something we should know about?”

The Hunter shrugged. “Some people freak out, being... outside.”

Huh. Yeah, with Kabane everywhere the walls weren’t, Jack could see agoraphobia kicking in _real_ quick. Though their fellow netters seemed just fine. Not to mention....

“You appear calm,” Teal’c noted, drying his hands. “As do most of those we travel with.”

Still shaking out wet hands, Daniel blinked, and looked up and down the hayajiro on their side. Traded a glance with Sam, who’d been studying a piece of rubberized tubing to see if she could figure out a better net float. “Oh.”

Sam nodded, as if something finally made sense. “If the Kabane prey on humans, they’re going to go where humans are. So... it’s safe here?”

“Eh.” Uryuu waggled the hand not greasy with steamed snake. “Sooner or later, they’ll show. But most of them stick near stations, and sleep a lot. We came in here with the winds howling louder than the engine, and the rain washed our scent downstream.”

Jack let his eyebrows jump, because sometimes teenage macho just had to be appreciated. Especially when it was intelligent macho. “So... if a guy’s smart, fast, and on his toes, he can make it out here. Good to know.”

“A lot of people could make it out here. If they had good maps, and enough ammunition....” Daniel stared down toward the locomotive, eyes alight. “Jack, they’re reinventing _nomadism_.”

Uryuu squinted at both of them. “Reinventing _what?_ ”

Oh. Great. Another word that didn’t translate... and Daniel had that _determined_ frown, like he’d just gotten an Idea. Uh-oh-

Something snatched Uryuu’s attention, that young face sharpening to alert readiness.

Jack shaded his eyes, and caught a hint of pink at the far end of the hayajiro that looked like Mumei’s jacket. On _top_ of the last car, no harness in sight. Kid apparently had no fear of heights whatsoever.

Then again, the way she could jump, that was just a little less reckless than it’d be for most people.

Uryuu’s shoulders went back; a casual brace for action to come. “Looks like somebody with lenses might have spotted something. Better help everybody get inside.”

Even halfway expecting it, Jack had to do a subtle double-take as the Hunter walked off. _Walked_ off, not running.

“...Wow,” Daniel got out, and gulped. “They... must have a lot of practice. Not panicking.”

“A lot,” Sam echoed, pale.

“Looks like,” Jack agreed, deliberately mild. Because if the locals who’d made it this far agreed the way to handle infectious super-zombies was _do not panic_ , then by golly, SG-1 was not going to panic. No matter how much he really, really wanted to. “Well. When on Chulak....” He gestured toward the hatches leading inside.

“Unfortunately,” Teal’c deadpanned, “we are not on Chulak.”

Yep, that was a spark of amusement in Jaffa eyes, even as Danny and Sam headed in, relaxing at the familiar banter.

 _Mission accomplished,_ Jack nodded at Teal’c. Morale, check. Time to start staying alive.

Two things the bushi had gotten straight with Jack last night before they all crashed. First, the grim fact that no, townsfolk did _not_ go back in first. Some of the bushi were always first in line, setting up for cover fire. _Then_ everybody else came in.

Second - which firing ports SG-1 was expected to cover when they weren’t blowing stuff up. Jack took the port nearest their bunks with Danny; Teal’c and Sam took another across the way, staff weapon and MP5 at the ready.

 _Damn, I wish we could put the civilians somewhere safe_.

As it was they were filing in to either sit on the floor near - not blocking - the center aisle, or on bunks away from the firing ports. Hanako had one of those, some kids and the new mother gathered around her, quiet and tense.

 _No kid should have to be that quiet_.

As the last of the fishing net was hauled in and the hatches slammed, Jack gave the old grandmother a confident smile. “Going to knit while we pull out?”

“And drop a stitch when your firecrackers go off?” The wizened lady _hmph_ ed back at him. “I’m not ruining a good pair of socks.”

Ooo, feisty. Jack reached for a good return sally-

Caught the side of the firing port instead, as the Koutetsujou lurched into motion. If they ended up trading tech with these people Jack was voting for shock absorbers.

On a purely military basis, of course. Smoother rides made for better aim. Had nothing to do with watching a half-dozen hands try to keep a nice old lady with sore joints in place, even as the lady herself gritted her teeth and refused to complain.

Ride got a little smoother as they picked up speed. Jack stared out the port as the steel arcs of bridge supports flashed by, estimating how fast they were moving. The Koutetsujou was no racecar, but they’d hit at least twenty already, not bad....

Gray and orange, and his throat went dry. Ah. There were the Kabane.

Daniel braced himself against armor plate, knuckles white as fingers splayed against steel. “Uryuu said the scent washed downstream.”

“Looks like he was right,” Jack agreed, listening for gunfire as he eyed the horde stalking its way upriver. Not nearly as thick a horde as Keishi, or even as the bunch they’d fought in the teeth of the typhoon. But those oncoming not-corpses moved with purpose.

 _Weird. I’ve seen ‘em be fast, and they don’t lurch like movie zombies, but_.... Jack’s eyes narrowed, studying the monsters making their way along the riverbank. The Kabane wove a little back and forth as they walked, which made sense if they were catching the scent from the breeze off running water. Gray feet stomped the ground yards farther inland than humans would have to be to avoid falling in, which also made sense given iron bones.

Or maybe it was something more. The way they moved. Kind of reminded him of- “Nerve gas.”

Daniel jumped, but didn’t let his aim waver _too_ much. “Jack?”

“Some kind of nerve damage,” Jack filled in. Breathe in, breathe out, they were picking up speed even faster now and even the Kabane that’d broken into a run were falling behind. But they weren’t _that_ far behind, why wasn’t anybody shooting? “The way they move. Jerky. Not coordinated.”

Daniel kept watching the horde, but his eye-roll was palpable. “That _could_ just be the whole having a brain made out of a modified heart thing.”

“It is likely, sir,” Sam called over her shoulder without glancing away from her own port. “It takes a certain minimum mass of neurons to run a human-sized body. They’ve got to be pushing the limit.”

“Could be,” Jack allowed, watching the thread of lava-laced bodies shrink as they gained distance. But it didn’t lose cohesion, orienting on the fleeing hayajiro like a needle to a magnet. Scent, sound; heck, could be plain-old eyesight, it was sunny out.

_How much can they see with glowing eyes?_

“Like being tracked by homicidal ants,” Daniel muttered.

“Which would make those the scouts,” Jack agreed, still tense at the absence of gunfire. “If they hole up the way the Hunters say, main horde’s probably waiting for them to come back.” So why had it stayed so quiet? If these were scouts, wiping them out would be the best thing for everybody. Yeah, no one was going to fire until the bastards were in range, but they’d gotten within maybe a dozen yards of the rearmost cars, hell that was _handgun_ range-

For smokeless powder weapons, Jack realized belatedly. All the shooting they’d seen the locals do had been inside twenty yards. With maybe the exception of Kibito, Kurusu, and Uryuu. Who were probably the local equivalent of _sniper-rated_.

If he’d had a hand free, he would have facepalmed. Augh.

 _Upside is, I’ve got a reason to poke our friendly local bushi with questions now. Range matters_.

“Come back?” A skinny townsman in a gray kimono lifted his head, frowning; one of the guys who’d been gamely fumbling with the net, Jack recalled, but who’d gotten the job done eventually. “We never saw them do that at Aragane.”

“We didn’t stay long enough to see them go to sleep, Fuyu,” Hanako shrugged. “And at Yashiro - well, we didn’t go far enough for them to need to send out scouts.”

“You’re right about that, Grandma,” Fuyu said respectfully. Squinted at Jack. “But ants? Uh-uh. Ants run back and forth. Kabane... just seem to know where the horde is.” He grinned suddenly, bright against short dark hair. “Well, most of the time. Mumei sure punched a hole in them that night.”

“I bet she did,” Jack grinned back. Because that was _very interesting_. Punching a hole in Aragane. Cutting a path in Keishi. They talked like the Kabane weren’t a mob of individuals, but a coherent mass even when they weren’t bound up into a Fused Colony.

Now that they were definitely outrunning the horde, Sam dared to glance away from her gunport. “It sounds like they’re all part of the same networked mind.” She frowned. “And you can blind it by taking out some of the nodes? But that would only work until more move into range to link up the pieces....”

That got half a car of uneasy looks. “You’d better ask the Hunters,” Fuyu offered. “Or Ikoma. They know more about Kabane.”

 _And you wish you didn’t know as much as you do_ , Jack filled in. _Fair. Maybe shortsighted when they’re all out to munch us, but fair_.

“Just don’t ask Mumei,” Hanako advised. “The girl’s a wonderful fighter, but her explanations....” A wizened hand ruffled the air. “She’s had a difficult life.”

Jack blinked. And traded dubious glances with the rest of his team, because given they were all in the middle of a _zombie apocalypse_ -

 _You know what? Not asking. Sounds personal. Ask later. Maybe. When we’re behind really thick walls, and not all at risk of imminent gory death_.

“Carter, is it?” Hanako nodded at his 2IC. “I don’t think the Kabane are all of one mind. If they were, you couldn’t goad them the way our bushi sometimes have. But I was at the fire when that poor young mother turned, and....” An ancient breath sighed out. “She was Kabane, it was clear. Yet the monster didn’t seem to know what to do. One Kabane, surrounded by screaming prey, and it couldn’t seem to choose where to strike.”

“Then Mumei whipped through like a bolt of lightning and stabbed two swords through its heart!” Fuyu jabbed the air with relish.

Jack kept a straight face, because that had better not have been an eep from Danny. They already knew the kid was Teal’c-levels of strong.

Or maybe it was the surrounding women’s glares Daniel wanted to eep at. Fuyu’s grin wilted a little, and he scratched at a shoulder sheepishly. “I know, she still feels bad about it, but at least she got it _before_ we had to run,” the townsman grumped. “What if it’d turned getting back on the Koutetsujou? When everybody was screaming at the horde outside?”

That got the guy a reluctant murmur of agreement. Jack nodded himself, because yeah, as scenarios went that sounded both plausible and hella nasty, and no wonder people got slammed into quarantine just on suspicion. Ouch. _Sore spot?_ He mouthed at Daniel.

The linguist nodded, blue eyes flicking over their fellow travelers in a way that told Jack he’d be changing the subject. Good.

Particularly good because there was a linguistic hiccup in there Jack really, really hoped Daniel had caught. He’d caught it, and as a dedicated Special Forces guy who’d fought alongside locals in a dozen places he couldn’t talk about, it scared the hell out of him.

 _It. Fuyu called the victim_ it.

Not just Fuyu. Hanako as well, and she seemed about as nice and level-headed as anyone on this rattling metal deathtrap.

 _Once you’re Kabane, you’re not human anymore. Hell, once you’re_ infected, _they start cutting you off in their heads_.

Which meant Tozuka’s formal suicide had been an act of bravery all the way around. Kurusu’s bushi had _known_ he was turning. Heck, fast as that color had spread, even SG-1 could see the guy had had maybe a minute left of still being human. And the bushi had still given him the chance to go out with dignity.

 _They’re the good guys. But I really, really don’t want my team to die nobly. Or at all_.

“Um.” Daniel cleared his throat. “This might be a stupid question, but when we were just leaving the bridge... I thought people would be shooting when the Kabane got close to the cars?”  

That sparked some stares. Jack had a prickly feeling on the back of his neck about those stares. “Yeah, about that,” he put in, almost casual. “What’s the range on a steam rifle? Usually.”

“When you’re shooting, or when you’re shooting Kabane?” A lean bushi in a familiar tan cloak came down the length of the car, quietly glancing at townsfolk who shook their heads and showed unmarked skin in unabashed relief. “There is a difference.”

“Keisuke,” Jack acknowledged the guy they’d last seen escorted off to quarantine, and raised an eyebrow before anyone else on his team could. Wasn’t quarantine supposed to be three days? “I see they sprung you. Good to know.” Yeah, good to know the man was no longer suspected of turning into a slavering flesh-gnawing monster, but _how?_ Kurusu was no dummy. “Why would shooting a Kabane be any different from shooting a target? Besides the whole iron cage thing.”

“Panic, the rush of combat, something we don’t yet know?” Keisuke shrugged, the cloak clinging close. “It is. Bullets don’t hit the way they should. If you mean to use knockback, they have to be close. And jet bullets... well, we’re still learning the range.” A tight smile. “Yashiro was an interesting fight.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jack caught Daniel’s eyes go wide. As if the linguist had finally put something together, and it was both awesome and the kind of thing that would make poor innocent colonels tear their hair out.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Sam objected. “Why would someone give you a design for enhanced bullets and not test the range?”

“Sam,” Daniel tried. Not quite loud enough.

“Wait, at Yashiro Station?” Sam went on, focused on Keisuke.

_“Sam.”_

“If you had the design, why didn’t you use them at Aragane?”

Silence. Keisuke’s face was carefully blank.

 _That is “I gave something away and didn’t mean to” blank_ , Jack decided. _Oh boy_.

Daniel took a deep breath, and squared his shoulders. “Because they didn’t have the design at Aragane.”

Erk. Halt. Reboot. What?

Daniel shrugged, giving Keisuke and the rest of the townsfolk a sheepish smile. “You covered it well, you really did. But - I know Jack. He’s careful about weapons. Kurusu and Kibito know their jobs. They’d be just as careful. So the only reason they’d arm people with bullets no one had tested yet would be - well, _no one_ tested them yet. You invented them _here_.” He glanced at Jack, eyes creased in wry humor. “You did say the piercing gun could be a prototype.”

“Yeah,” Jack got out, feeling like he’d been gut-punched. Sam was almost pale, and even Teal’c looked unsettled. Which, yeah, of freaking course. “You... tested them at Yashiro... you’ve had jet bullets for _two weeks?_ ”

“And a few days,” Keisuke said dryly.

“And they work!” Fuyu threw his fists up, grin fierce. “Before Mumei cut them down in Aragane, I didn’t think you _could_ kill Kabane!”

Which was a Blue Screen of Death moment if Jack had ever had one, because the scenario that had just crashed together behind his eyes was enough to have the Marines curled up and crying for Mommy.

 _Twenty years. Twenty years of hiding behind walls and speeding cross-country on armored trains, while the world fills up with bulletproof super-zombies and one little cut gets you thrown in quarantine by terrified armed people. Terrified people who think - who_ know _\- they can’t even kill the monsters_.

No wonder some of the Kongokaku had cracked. The miracle was that the rest of ‘em hadn’t.

 _Two weeks, they’ve been able to kill Kabane_. Jack let breath whistle between his teeth, because damn. _We’re in on the ground floor of a new generation of warfare_.

Run by a teenage girl. Which, actually, made Jack feel a hell of a lot better about their chances. They didn’t call it the Joan of Arc advantage for nothing.

He grinned, sudden and toothy. Oh goody. He was going to get to lecture Danny on history. Fun.

From that sidelong glance, Daniel had caught his grin and intended to ask about it. Later. Right now archaeologist fingers were twitching in a way that meant if he weren’t so busy thinking five steps ahead, he’d be taking notes. “You’re not trying to hide the bullets. You’re hiding who designed them.”

The townsfolk studiously looked elsewhere. Keisuke didn’t twitch. “Obviously, a steamsmith did.”

“Obviously,” Jack agreed, picking up on what Daniel must have put together from a dozen subtle social cues and bits they’d seen of how the class system worked. “But, you know. Bushi, steamsmiths - you guys don’t talk to each other much. So if, say, some grabby station lord wants to know _which_ steamsmith... eh. Shrug.”

Keisuke breathed out, and inclined his head graciously. “Lady Ayame did say you were an experienced commander.”

And no, it wasn’t Jack’s imagination; the whole car had relaxed. Some people were jabbing each other and winking about the near escape, others were shepherding off the kids to play a kind of jacks with bits of wooden scrap, and everybody was politely ignoring the mother who’d wrapped herself in a shawl to feed baby out of sight.

“Two weeks.” Jack leaned back against the folded-up bunk, thoughtful. “Wow, you guys changed your tactics fast.” Because holy Hannah, they had to have. Nobody would have tried that rescue in the middle of Keishi with guns that didn’t kill things.

“We’ve had some help.” A slight shrug. “Now that we’re clear, Kurusu will be using the second car to train. And discuss future tactics. If you would be interested.”

Jack glanced at his team, even though he knew what their answer would be. Better tactics for the locals meant a better chance of survival for everybody. And he was kind of curious to get in on what jet bullets could actually _do_. And couldn’t.

Not to mention, he still had questions about a certain steamsmith, and what he hadn’t seen in a typhoon-soaked night.

 _Easy. Go slow. If Keisuke’s hinting what I think he’s hinting, these guys would move heaven and earth not to lose Ikoma. And I can’t blame ‘em_. “You want to poke our brains for more tactics? Sure why not.”

Keisuke nodded, but paused before he headed for the hatch. “Chie’s been cleared,” he announced to the car at large. “But she’s staying in the sixth car for now. They can use another rifle. Even restrained, a madman is... distracting.”

Daniel winced. Jack tried not to sigh, as they followed the bushi out of the car. Yeah, no, the drugged-straight-jacketed-and-thrown-in-rubber-room mess was _not_ something Danny was going to get over in a hurry.

One more reason to wish Ma’chello was still alive, so he could _strangle_ the guy. Preferably after they’d wrung him dry of any more booby-traps he’d spread across the galaxy.

 _Still giving at least fifty-fifty odds the Kabane are Ma’chello’s work_ , Jack thought, taking a breath of the breeze leaking into the corridor between cars. The rattle was almost loud enough to drown out speech, but right now, that was probably for the best. “So... cleared after just one day. How’s that work?”

“Something we can’t tell the Kongokaku.” Keisuke started turning the next wheel. “We will tell you. Later. Some of their bushi will be training, too.”

Oh, great.

Still, a gun was a gun, and it was better to have unsteady troops where you could see them. Maybe if the Kongokaku bushi realized that hey, Kurusu and co. actually _had a plan_ , some of them would calm down enough to see sense.

Yeah, that was it. Think positive. Just because they were low on ammo, on a crowded train of refugees, in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, making their way to a station they only _hoped_ was still there, was no reason to get depressed.

* * *

_Typhoon rain_ , Ikoma grumped to himself, carefully swabbing out the barrel of Kurusu’s steam rifle. The rest of his maintenance kit rested by his right knee, vibrating as the Koutetsujou moved and the sortie car floor thumped from bushi practicing how to fall. _Branches, leaves - suppose I should be glad he was up on the prow, or there’d be mud, too_.

Aha, _there_ was that last leaf shred he’d glimpsed with a careful look down the muzzle. After he’d double and triple-checked the rifle was unloaded and not attached to a cylinder. Better safe than sorry, he’d had to work on too many weapons on too little sleep to take shortcuts.

Bit of seared green in hand, Ikoma wiped it on a rag, and breathed out. _Now for the oil_.

Kurusu could maintain a steam rifle himself. And had, all too often over the past few weeks. But the samurai had been dealing with Elder Dogen and panicky Kongokaku bushi for _days_. That kind of headache did not lend itself to good firearms maintenance.

Besides. This was one of the guns that would be shooting past him the next time he had to dive into a horde. It was just common sense to make sure Kurusu’s weapon would be as accurate as possible.

And fixing something always made Ikoma feel better.

 _I’ll have to catch him at a good time._ Ikoma paused for a moment to rub the back of his fingerless glove against his eyebrow. Damn concentration headache. Annoying, he hadn’t been fixing near enough small finicky gears to have earned that yet today. _I want to check how the coating on his sword is holding up_....

There was a disturbing lack of falling bodies.

_Did Hozumi arm-lock somebody so hard they sprained something? Again?_

Rifle pointed away from anything that might bleed, Ikoma looked up.

Hozumi wasn’t holding down anybody. Kajika was holding her instead, arms wrapped around leather in a flow of pale green cotton, brown eyes fierce and determined in a way that made Ikoma twitch toward the piercing gun, and glance across the car for cranky Hunters or crazy Kongokaku.

Hunters, yes; at least Uryuu and Masahide, lounging casually dangerous in a corner that would let them back up Hozumi and snatch Kajika out of the way. Huh.

But no Kongokaku bushi. Which was odd all by itself, even if the Kongokaku were trying to avoid the Hunters.

What was even odder, O’Neill’s team were... not _exactly_ facing off with Kurusu, Kibito, Keisuke, and the others. But there was something in their faces that made Ikoma uneasy.

“I’m just saying, I can see why Elder Dogen’s having conniption fits,” O’Neill stated; arms folded, as if he was deliberately making sure his hands weren’t anywhere near a firearm. “He’s survived twenty years using the rules you guys are breaking. If everybody pulled the same stunts you are, you’d all die.” The graying soldier cleared his throat. “That said, getting somebody out of quarantine _two days_ early has got to be a lifesaver. So why can’t the Kongokaku know about it?” He shrugged. “I mean, my team’s got a few guesses, but... we’d rather hear it straight.”

Hozumi had her shoulders back, eyes narrowed, obviously ready to give this stranger the unvarnished truth and throw him off the hayajiro if he didn’t like it-

Kajika held her a little tighter, and shook her head.

Hozumi huffed, looking away. And if that just happened to leave her tucked against a big-sisterly shoulder, none of the bushi were crazy enough to mention it.

“As Keisuke said, we’ve had help learning new tactics.” Kurusu glanced toward Uryuu, and back to the colonel. “You have heard that Biba Amatori, who led the Hunters before, destroyed Kongokaku. What you have not heard is that for ten years before that they were the _only_ force who succeeded in destroying Kabane.”

“Mortar fire, mostly,” Uryuu deadpanned, not twitching from his slouch. “That, and special bullets. _Not_ the same kind Aragane pulled out of their hat. Ours need a hell of a lot more gunpowder. Hard to get. But you just can’t breach the iron cage with a regular steam rifle... unless you can land a bunch of hits on the _exact_ same spot.”

O’Neill followed his gaze to Hozumi, and whistled. “You can do that?”

She jerked her head in a nod, still huffy. “Jet bullets are better. I only need one shot.”

“One heart-shot on something charging you is a lot better odds,” Sam agreed, blinking. “And you can put several in the same spot? Wow. Most of our best soldiers couldn’t do that.”

“No,” Daniel noted quietly, chin propped on his knuckles. “No, they couldn’t.” He cleared his throat. “Should we ask?”

“Might be wiser not to, if you’re not behind locked hatches.” Kibito grinned a little, some of the seriousness dropping away as he tugged at one sleeve of his gi. “Though part of the problem is, we don’t _know_ much. The Hunters’ scientists, the ones who found girls like Mumei... or, well, we don’t even know _that_ , did they find girls or _do_ something....”

“Steamsmith over there blew them up.” Uryuu crossed his arms, and gave Kurusu a look daring him to object. “Along with who knows how many Hunters.”

“Sahari threw the Kokujou at me,” Ikoma said flatly, setting the steamrifle aside. “You try that again, I’ll find something else to blow up.” Not that he could do that with sheer willpower, not anymore - but he _was_ a steamsmith. Knowing how things exploded was part of the job.

“You would,” Uryuu said wryly, lifting a hand a little to calm Masahide’s bristle. “We both lost people. And....” He glanced down, face a little lost. “I’m not sure how many of the others wanted to make it out, with Biba gone.” 

“The situation was complicated,” Kurusu informed O’Neill. “And better spoken of later. The Kongokaku know the shogun’s son was insane. Discussing it will not alarm them.”

“And discussing these Hunter girls would,” O’Neill said thoughtfully, glancing between Kurusu and Hozumi. “Mind if I ask why-?”

Kajika sucked in a breath, arms a little looser. “Mumei can smell Kabane.”

For a moment, O’Neill was very still. “Yeah. That’d do it.”

Daniel winced. “Yes, it would.”

Ikoma watched, curious, as O’Neill did a double-take. The colonel raised an eyebrow. “Danny?”

“Um. Well....” Daniel shifted his shoulders, as if apologizing to the rest of the car in advance. “Given the Kabane hunt by scent, someone who can smell them would bring up all kinds of bad associations. To people who aren’t thinking straight.”

 _Oh kami, they know. Or they’re close._ Ikoma’s hands twitched toward his tools. Damn it, people. Give him a stripped gear to fix any day. _What do we do?_

Though the first thing to do was not panic. Wherever O’Neill’s people had come from they were still bushi, or something like bushi, and there were probably all kinds of rules about not shooting people who’d rescued you in the head even if you _did_ think they were strange.

Probably.

On top of that Kurusu had them outnumbered. O’Neill was strange. He _wasn’t_ stupid.

 _Just - stay calm. Breathe_.

“It would.” Kurusu’s eyes narrowed, as if at an unpleasant memory. “Though Mumei would be far from the only one under suspicion. I have been informed by Elder Dogen that our bushi are suspiciously good at determining where Kabane might be.” He paused, three slow heartbeats. “And that bushi in the past who could sense Kabane were themselves suspected of being Kabane, and executed.”

_Wait, what?_

Ikoma didn’t know Kurusu that well yet, not half as well as he’d known Takumi - but he knew when Kurusu was lying. Or shading the truth, just a little, to get facts past panicky skulls.

Kurusu wasn’t lying.

_Have there been other Kabaneri no one knew about? Bushi Kabaneri? Or is there some other way to detect Kabane, something humans can use- Wait. Kurusu said what I was doing to see the butterflies was like meditation. Bushi meditate. Maybe there is a way?_

He always kept paper and a pencil with his kit. A few quick notes, and maybe he could go over this with Kurusu later....

Was Sam staring at him?

If she was, O’Neill was doing a good job of drawing everyone’s attention away from that, with his exaggerated eye-roll toward the ceiling. “So get too good at finding the enemy, and you are the enemy. _Great_.”

Hozumi stifled a giggle, and Ikoma tried not to sigh. Right, they were only _half_ the enemy. She would think that was funny.

“Though such assumptions allow those of the Koutetsujou more freedom of action.” One of Teal’c’s brows lifted slightly, like an amused icon of a kami. “If any success in fighting the Kabane labels you as outsiders, then so long as your people are united, every tactic - and advantage - that will save lives, is welcome.”

 _Works in theory_. Ikoma tried not to remember those awful hours - had it been less than a day? - when Aragane’s survivors had wanted both Kabaneri thrown from the hayajiro. He couldn’t even blame them. Accepting the Koutetsujou’s donation schedule, warm red blood willingly given to keep them both alive....

It’d hurt. They’d needed it and it meant people cared about them, he knew that - but it _hurt_.

And damn it, Sam _was_ staring at him. He’d seen Biba’s cruel smile across a corpse-strewn battlefield, he knew when people had their eyes on him. No matter how much they were trying to hide it. Especially if they were trying to hide it.

 _I wanted to talk to them about making better bullets_.

But between O’Neill’s talk sliding aside from tactics and the staring, this was feeling more and more like a bushi situation. Or maybe a Kajika one. Negotiations were her battleground, not his.

 _And if they’re this close to guessing about Kabaneri - I don’t lie well enough_.

Neither did Hozumi, but Kajika had her well in hand. Besides, Hozumi could look cute. Cute was distracting.

Distracting as his headache. Damn it, he’d only done fine work on one rifle, not twenty.

 _Didn’t Suzuki say something about pressure shifts and headaches? The typhoon’s past, but... ow_.

Levering himself up, Ikoma walked over and handed Kurusu the cleaned rifle. “No more leaves. I’m going to see if Yukina and Suzuki need anything.” Because there might be things they needed a steamsmith for, that they didn’t want to mention over the speaking tubes.

If there were, they’d probably send Sukari... but it made a good excuse to slip out the hatch, into the rushing air of the tunnel between cars.

 _Sorry, Kurusu. I don’t think I can back you up in this fight_.

Kibito was there, and Keisuke, and the rest of the bushi. That was probably better all around. Besides. If O’Neill’s team had been staring at him... maybe if he wasn’t there, there wouldn’t _be_ a fight.

 _Or maybe I just put it off ‘til sometime worse_. Ikoma rubbed at his headache. _The heck with this. I need to find gears to fix_.

And maybe some tea. If it was a pressure headache, breathing in some steam might help. And if it wasn’t....

 _Then I need to get out of sight_.

* * *

Rifle in hand, Kurusu kept his face neutral, even as the hatch clanged closed behind their steamsmith. That... was not like Ikoma. True, he was a steamsmith, not bushi; but he’d been part of all their battle-plans for weeks, he wouldn’t abandon that responsibility now. And far less would he miss the chance to discuss the technology of how to kill Kabane with strangers who had access to weapons they’d never seen before. To slip away before he finally had a chance to discuss jet bullets? The man must be ill-

 _Or hungry_.

Kibito must have seen through him, as always. “Kajika. Did Ikoma miss his tea this morning? I know you steamsmiths live on that black stuff, but when he gets worried about Kurusu’s rifle and canister....”

“He gets distracted.” Kajika got to her feet; not _rushing_ , but fast and efficient. Smart woman. “I’ll go check on him.” She tapped Hozumi on the shoulder. “Come on. I know if _he_ didn’t eat, you didn’t.”

“I did!” Hozumi _hmph_ ed; then glanced away. “But maybe there’s more honey?”

 _More-?_ Kurusu tried not to grimace, as he set the rifle aside into a temporary rack. Oh. Of course. From what little Hozumi knew, Kabaneri needed their medicine at least every few days. Likely more often, from what Uryuu had been able to tell them of Kabaneri overcome by hunger for more than blood. And before Kajika’s lucky discovery, both Hozumi and Ikoma had been starved of honey for _weeks_. If it was anything like human starvation, a few days of proper food wasn’t nearly enough to undo the damage. Not when they’d fought so hard last night.

“After how cold you were last night? I’m sure we can find some.” Kajika gave the car a smile, then swept out with Hozumi like she was about to track down the last half-price vegetables in the market.

“Ah, kids and sweets.” O’Neill smiled, arms dropping back to his sides. But his eyes were level, judging the exact moment the hatch spun closed. “Can’t say I’m that surprised. Bouncing around like that must burn a heck of a lot of energy.”

Which was an invitation to discuss Hozumi’s strangeness in more detail. Kurusu narrowed his eyes, declining.

 _You know there’s more than we’ve said. But to ask for more details while she is not here - no. Hozumi is young, but she is not a child_.

Not that he could blame the man for asking. O’Neill had likely deduced the only reason his team was alive was because Hozumi could assure them Teal’c’s... passenger, was no Kabane. He would want to know the limits of such guardians.

The colonel’s slight shrug acknowledged they were dropping the subject. For now. “Though I am kind of surprised Ikoma didn’t stick around to talk bullets. Carter was looking forward to comparing physics and what you’ve got for muzzle velocity.”

Kurusu drew a relieved breath as the blonde nodded. This, at least, would be easy to explain. “Ikoma has good reasons to be wary of armed strangers.” Best to leave it at that-

“Might have something to do with the slugs we pulled out of him,” Kibito observed, not quite looking at the Hunters. “He just got the sling off the morning we pulled into Keishi.”

So his bushi were not as willing as Ikoma to let their grudge die with Sahari and Biba. Fair enough.

From Uryuu’s grimace, the young Hunter had suspected as much. “Wish things had gone down different. That was just... damn it, it was stupid. If we want to kill Kabane, taking out one of the steamsmiths who came up with jet bullets-” He cut himself off. “I guess that’s not what Biba wanted, when it came down to life or death.”

So Takumi’s death still bothered Uryuu. Kurusu had thought it might, after Kibito’s account of how Kajika had faced down them all to take Takumi’s body home. Good. The Koutetsujou had lost too many people to Biba’s madness. If a steamsmith’s bravery kept the Hunters aimed at the Kabane... Takumi would have wanted that.

Masahide rested his good hand on his leader’s shoulder. “A betrayed lord will go to great lengths for revenge, Boss. Even if it would harm his loyal bushi. Sometimes because it harms them; if he’s failed so as a lord that his vassals may die, some lords think it’s better that all die together, to spare his ghost the shame of their survival.”

Uryuu’s eyes widened. He glanced at Kurusu and Kibito, for once looking younger than his years; as if imploring them to tell him this was just a nightmare to be woken from.

“He sent you away at the end. He wanted you to live.” Kibito shrugged. “It’s happened. Not so much these days, not with the Kabane out there. But it’s in the history books. Though sometimes you have to know how to read between the lines.” He rubbed one hand over the knuckles of the other, as if soothing the memory of a punch. “That’s why good lords get down in with their people when they can. To remember what they’re fighting for. To know we need them to stay alive, so the Kabane don’t swallow us all.” He eyed Kurusu. “And so they can remember we’re fighting for them, too. They’re not alone.”

“Gets lonely at the top,” O’Neill agreed. “Sometimes too much for any guy to face on his own.” He raised a peppered brow at Kurusu. “We really going to be okay to ask about this Biba guy later? Sounds kind of touchy.”

“Come back to our car, I’ll tell you.” Uryuu stood straight, defiant. “He was a good leader. Maybe not as good as we thought. Maybe he hated the shogun and meant to kill him all along. But he _fought_ the Kabane. Up until... I think a year back. Then things started getting weird.” The Hunter blew out a breath. “Maybe Ikoma’s right, and that colony heart twisted him up inside. We didn’t feel it, but we didn’t get as close to the crazy thing, either. The scientists did.” Uryuu paused, as if trying to pick words like a path through lines of fire. “They weren’t... right. What they did. The way they looked at the other girls like Mumei. It wasn’t _right_.”

“So when the nasty super-zombies clump up into a Fifty-Foot-Whatever, they can play with minds?” O’Neill whistled. “Yeah, it just keeps getting better.”

“We don’t _know_ they can.” Kibito shifted a hair closer to Kurusu. Every bushi on the Koutetsujou swore they’d die before they went mad enough to open a station to the Kabane. And yet, that was exactly what Biba had done; not once, but twice by his own hands, and more if he’d been behind other Fused Colonies. “Fear, despair, people going over the edge - the Kabane do that fine just by attacking.”

“But it would make sense,” Daniel put in quietly. “I mean, the way Ikoma left like that. You say he doesn’t trust armed strangers, but he trusted us to shoot past him last night-”

Uryuu’s gaze flicked away. “He trusted us, too. Fought right with us outside Shitori. After we left the station... that’s when Biba took the Koutetsujou.”

“You should not shoulder all of that blame.” Kurusu stared down hazel. “You are not Sahari, or Biba. You made it quite clear, you were not a _friend_.”

Which was the only reason he had backed his lady’s offer to keep the Hunters as part of the Koutetsujou’s forces. _These_ Hunters had never lied to them.

“Sounds like you guys could use a long talk.” O’Neill’s head tilted, just a hair too mild. “Right now, though, I’m a little more worried about the fact you say he fought _with_ you. Your Hunters charge into hordes on massive steambikes, and that oversized nailgun means he fights on foot. Put that together with what our lovely young quarter-mistress made sure my team didn’t see last night... oh, the heck with it.” He took a deep breath. “Do you think Ikoma’s immune to the bite? ‘Cause he takes risks like _he_ thinks he is.”

 _So he did notice_. Kurusu inclined his head, acknowledging the colonel’s wit and tenacity. “We do not think. We know, beyond the shadow of a doubt. If he were not immune, he would not be here.”

That stopped O’Neill’s team in their tracks.

 _Move into the opening. The more quickly you tell them, the less time they have to realize there are more questions they should ask_.

And the faster he got this over with, the less he’d have to remember. No one wanted to think of that night.

“When we took the Koutetsujou out of Aragane... Ikoma had been bitten in the evacuation. We left him behind.”

He could still see the look of horror on Ikoma’s face as Kurusu had shot his glowing heart. The steamsmith was Kabane, and moments from becoming a monster. They’d both known it.

Until Hozumi had shown them her own heart, and wedged open just the tiniest crack for doubt.

“But when we reached the drawbridge, the automatic switch would not engage,” Kurusu went on, face stoic against the offworlders’ controlled horror. They’d seen Tozuka suicide. They should _know_ Ikoma would not have been allowed on board a crowded hayajiro of terrified refugees. “We discovered later a Kabane arm had jammed the linkage bar... but you have already heard about Yashiro.”

“You mean that was the same-?” Daniel shook his head, as if he had to shake off horror from a night he had never seen. “It was stuck there for a week?”

Kibito shrugged. “It was a busy week.”

A smirk would not be appropriate as his lady’s bodyguard, Kurusu knew. Even if it was true.

“No kidding,” O’Neill muttered, half under his breath. “So... damn. You were locked into a fortress with the horde. Joy.” His eyes narrowed. “The _automatic_ switch. I’m guessing there’s another one?”

“Every drawbridge has a manual lever switch on the inside,” Kurusu stated, startled. Why would O’Neill have to guess? Everyone knew this-

Everyone raised in a station. O’Neill’s folk had never seen a station.

It was a dizzying thought. He’d seen a few abandoned villages beside the tracks, but the idea of not living behind steel and concrete walls seemed as foreign as trying to fly.

“Problem was, by that time the horde caught up with us.” Kibito chafed his arms, despite the summer heat simmering the car’s air. “Even if everyone could shoot for knockback, it would have been suicide to go out there.” He nodded toward Kurusu. “So of course he was going to go out anyway.”

“Someone had to.” Kurusu kept his voice steady. Odd, how the thought was more terrifying now than it had seemed that dark night. But at that moment his focus had been on Lady Ayame’s survival. As her bodyguard it was his duty, his honor, to lay down his life for Aragane’s heir.

Now all that remained of Aragane was in his care, and he no longer had that freedom. He might risk his life, but Aragane and his lady demanded he not throw it away.

“Could Mumei not assist?” Teal’c’s deep voice was curious, without the subtle barb he would have expected from one of Dogen’s bushi. “To risk surviving the horde even long enough to throw the switch, it must have been nearby. And we have seen her evade the Kabane.”

“She ran out of time, right?” Uryuu had his arms crossed, listening intently. “Cutting you a path through the horde... bet she keeled over right after.”

Kurusu nodded. “She was deeply asleep. We did not wake her.”

“I don’t think you could have,” Masahide put in. “What we’ve seen - once they’re out, they’re _out_.”

“So she has bursts of superhuman effort, followed by a down period,” Sam murmured. Nodded to herself. “Janet would drag her right in for a checkup. That can’t be good for a teenager. Or anybody.”

“So, you were stuck,” O’Neill observed, looking over Kurusu as if he knew exactly how daunting the prospect of someone examining Hozumi would be. “But you’re still here, so I’m guessing Kibito sat on you.”

Kurusu tried not to bristle, even as Keisuke and a few of the other bushi exchanged knowing looks. He had been doing his duty. No more, no less.

“That’s when we heard the piercing gun,” Kibito said matter-of-factly. “The horde was focused on the Koutetsujou. Ikoma cut through them from behind.” He shook his head. “We saw him bitten. He just wouldn’t go down. He tore loose, and threw the switch.”

Daniel looked away, obviously too easily imagining fangs savaging human flesh. Sam grimaced, as if she wondered if she could have sacrificed herself for a hayajiro of survivors. Teal’c looked even more statue-calm than usual. And O’Neill....

The offworld colonel nodded once, as if he’d expected nothing less. “Tough little guy. Even for an engineer.”

Uryuu was watching all of them, hazel eyes for once a little more curious than wary. “So how’d he get back on the hayajiro?”

“Well of course they....” Daniel ground to a halt, evidently reading _something_ off impassive bushi faces. “You didn’t stop.”

“The horde was still coming.” Kurusu weighed the scholar in his gaze; did he have to state the obvious?

 _It would seem so. They are not of this world_.

“We thought Ikoma was a Kabane,” Kurusu went on, “with only moments of sanity left before the infection killed everything human. He thought so as well. Takumi and Mumei hauled him aboard with a rope.”

“Kicking and screaming,” Kibito threw in. “You could hear the swearing two cars up.”

“The bites were visible. Yet we could see no infection spreading,” Kurusu went on. Carefully. Very carefully. If O’Neill had told the truth about allies from another world, Aragane needed all the help they could get. It would not do to lie. “Mumei claimed he was not a Kabane. We did not believe she could smell an infection, not then, but - his bites had no color. And the law is the law. We confined them both to the last car for quarantine.”

 _Almost over. Just a little farther_.

“In the course of the next day Mumei claimed she sensed a Kabane among the passengers,” Kurusu said steadily. “We did not believe her. Then.”

O’Neill’s breath hissed between his teeth. “The slow infection Fuyu talked about.”

“The kami must’ve been looking out for us.” Kibito made a sign for luck. “If she’d turned inside a car - well.” He shrugged. “After that, we believed Mumei when she said she could smell them. So a day after Ikoma was bitten, we let him out.”

Kurusu nodded slightly. No need to go into the less... flattering details of that night and morning. Ikoma had apologized for trying to attack Ayame, and thanked Kurusu for stopping him. Hozumi had hopefully had it impressed upon her that she should _tell_ any newborn Kabaneri about the bloodthirst. And the Elders who’d tried to abandon both Kabaneri to the tracks had died a very messy death.

 _A pity they took so many innocents with them_.

Deliberately, Kurusu turned his mind from the dead. “Ikoma has been bitten since then. Each time, it has been the same. For him they are only bites. Clean them, and they heal.”

“ _Only_ bites.” Keisuke eyed him and Kibito alike; a silent reminder that while Kurusu might have grown accustomed to fighting alongside Kabaneri, the rest of the bushi were still getting used to their unusual allies. Then shook his head at O’Neill’s raised brow. “They can’t turn him, but they could still tear him apart. He’s been lucky to get loose every time.” The lean bushi smirked. “Though he tries not to get bitten. He says it hurts like hell.”

Sam straightened at that, as if her hands itched for a steamsmith’s notebook. “I thought Kabane bites went numb?”

“Yes, they-” Keisuke cut himself off, casting a startled glance at Kurusu.

“They do.” Kurusu traded a thoughtful look with Kibito. “For everyone, it would seem, but Ikoma.”

 _Kabaneri. Always more questions than answers_.

* * *

_They’ve got an immune on the train_. Jack’s mind raced, considering possibilities. _A whole world of Kabane, and they’ve got one guy who can walk into a horde and survive it, even if he does get bit_.

Made for some _interesting_ adjustments to the tactical situation. And he was going to think about that first, and not the hair-raising fact that between jet bullets, the Aragane drawbridge, and that mess in Yashiro, everyone on this whole freakin’ hayajiro owed Ikoma their lives multiple times over.

 _Including us. Damn. Ayame sent in the absolute best people she had for the job. Uryuu and that Eishun guy were counting on speed in Keishi, but Ikoma and Mumei could have_ walked _out_.

Well. Run out, probably. The fact remained that the Koutetsujou had taken a very calculated risk to save the lives of absolute strangers. A risk that had killed one of their bushi, and _could_ have killed their best weapons guy.

 _No touchie the cranky steamsmith. Got it_. “I can see why you don’t want the Kongokaku in on this.”

“If we don’t want to mop them off the walls, no,” Uryuu snorted. “The princess would hate it, but she’s got steel. She’d give the order.”

Daniel swallowed. “Her own uncle?”

“Elder Dogen is aware of both Ikoma and Mumei,” Kurusu stated, shoulders subtly back in a way that said he was not at all happy about that. “He advised that she abandon them, rather than risk stations being closed to the Koutetsujou from the fear of infection.”

Oh. How _nice_ of him. “Scummy stunt to pull on people who aren’t infected.”

Daniel cleared his throat; _Jack, I hate to say this, but._ “We don’t actually know Ikoma’s not infected.”

Sam grimaced as if she’d bitten a lemon. “He’s right, sir. Where we come from, there have been cases where people survived Ebola and looked just fine. But they were still carrying the virus. Sometimes for years.”

“I don’t know what this _Ebola_ is, but-” Now Kibito shrugged, shoulders missing the weight of armor. “You’re not wrong. Ikoma knows that. Kami, he warned us about it. We’re careful. All of us. So if you see a bamboo tube with a red band on it, don’t open it and don’t drink out of it. That’s Ikoma’s.” A quick grin. “You probably won’t see one; Ikoma’s good at keeping those on him. But just in case.”

Because red-banded tube equaled possible biohazard from hell. Oh, great. “Well. That... adds an interesting factor in your tactics. And training.” Oh man, did it ever; it had to be extremely tricky to teach an engineer to fight and simultaneously make sure you _never hit him in the mouth_. Because teeth. Saliva. Augh. “Though if he _is_ immune, that would be a neat trick to figure out... dear God where’s Janet when we need her.”

“If anywhere ever needed a doctor who specializes in exotic diseases, this is the place.” Daniel glanced at the sortie car’s sliding door, looking _through_ it in the way that meant his brain was somewhere else, trying to fit half a dozen fragments together into enough of a shape to guess at what they were looking at. “Though, immune, or even just resistant... how many Kabane has Ikoma autopsied-?” He stopped, blinking. “Probably not the right word when you killed it in the first place. I think.”

“Janet would know,” Sam said innocently. Eyes just a little _too_ wide.

Aaand yep, there went Teal’c’s, ever-so-slightly crinkled at the corners. Darn Jaffa sense of humor.

“I am _not_ belling the doc,” Jack said bluntly. “Though, good question. How long’s he known he could pick up dead pieces of Kabane and not get infected?” Hopefully not infected. No, probably _not_ infected, given what Ikoma’d said about steamsmiths cleaning off hayajiros. Or a whole bunch of steamsmiths would be bite-resistant and so far they had just the one.

“The kami only know,” Kibito almost laughed. “The night we escaped... well, he’d been thrown into quarantine for handling pieces. Who knows how often he did that before he got caught?”

“Five years.”

Jack cast a look askance at Kurusu. “That’s a pretty specific number.” And he was just going to not touch the whole, _so how did Ikoma get_ out _of quarantine that night?_ Because _station getting swallowed_. He could see bushi flinching every time that last night in Aragane came up, and there was a limit to how much he wanted to stomp on anybody else’s PTSD triggers.

Besides, said steamsmith was at least as stubborn as any SGC field personnel, and Jack had lost track of how many prisons SG-1 had broken out of. Ikoma’d probably just _glared_ the bars into submission.

“Five years ago another station fell,” Kurusu stated. “Ikoma used a suicide charge to kill a Kabane before it had fully revived. He survived.”

Jack blinked, adding up iron cage and what the charge was meant to do, and gulped. As in took a bag full of explosives, planted it on the thing’s chest, and yanked. Gah. Obviously the guy came by the steel nerves honestly- Wait. Daniel was frowning. Why?

“What do you mean, revived?” the archaeologist said, very carefully.

The trace of confusion that flickered over Kurusu’s face did not give Jack a warm and fuzzy feeling. “When the bitten corpse rises again to join the horde. What else?”

 _What_.

“Uh,” Daniel managed. Which was a syllable more than Jack felt like he could manage, right now. Kind of hard to talk when your guts were choking your throat. “What. Corpse. I mean - they’re not really undead, you can’t get something alive out of a dead body... _oh_.”

And that was a linguistic “oh”. Of what sounded like the terrifying kind. The car was stifling, summer sun beating on steel, but right now everything felt cold. “Danny?” Jack prompted.

The archaeologist wet his lips. “Um. The local word for _dead body_ is _shikabane_.”

“Okay,” Jack nodded, serious. Because he could hear that, but obviously Daniel had figured out something more than the simple ‘Gate translation. And from the fidgeting, it had to be bad.

“Only that word doesn’t exactly mean dead body. More like, _dead corpse_. And I’m pretty sure the ‘dead’ is the _shi_ part.”

Jack nodded again, keeping an eye on the Hunters and bushi as they listened to linguistics like it was the oddest entertainment they’d had in weeks. Sooner or later Daniel would get to the point-

Oh.

Oh, hell.

Sam beat him to it. “So _Kabane_ means... a corpse that’s not dead.”

The local bemused nods did zip for Jack’s peace of mind. Just when he’d convinced himself they were _not_ dealing with freakin’ zombies. “So the dead _are_ rising from the graves? How is anybody still alive?”

“Oi!” Uryuu advanced on him a step, face grim as Jack had seen it yet. “Get a grip. Nobody can raise the true dead from the grave.” He jerked his head, a stray sunbeam glinting off brass. “But if they bite you and you die before you turn, somebody still has to take your heart out. Or the Kabane rises in... eh. An hour, maybe two. Depends where the bite was.” He tapped at the side of his throat. “They go for the neck, where it’s quick.”

Oh, so just if they bit you _before_ you kicked off. Great. Didn’t change the fact that they were dealing with _actual revived zombies_. What the hell, Universe.

“That’s... actually not as supernatural as it sounds, sir.” Sam had a grip on one of her vest buckles, rubbing it between her fingers as she thought it through. “Plenty of organs in the body stay alive for a while after the brain shuts down. The heart can last a couple of hours, and that’s what the infection’s after. As long as enough of the virus was carried through the bloodstream before the victim died, it would work. And the neck has the major arteries.”

 _Sam Carter casts Shield of Science!_ Jack thought irreverently. _It’s super effective!_

From the way Daniel squinted at him, the archaeologist knew exactly what he was thinking.

Jack blinked deliberately. _Who, me?_

Daniel rolled his eyes and sighed, then looked at Uryuu again. “I think Sam has a good explanation. But... that’s how it might work where we come from. What do your people think happens, when a corpse revives?”

The Hunter rocked back on his heels. “Hell should I know? I’m no scientist.”

“So you’re not,” Jack shrugged that off. “But you’re still the guys who’ve fought these things for a decade and lived to tell about it. So? What do you think?”

 Uryuu frowned, digging a finger behind his headpiece as he chewed that over. “Don’t know,” he said at last. “If the virus moves in the blood, might be why live bites turn faster. But if it’s trying to kill the brain first, why’s it take so long for a dead body to rise? Brain’s already gone.” He grimaced. “And why’s it faster than a slow infection, when those poor bastards have got a heartbeat, but don’t know anything’s wrong until their hearts start glowing?”

“Mark that one down for Janet....” Jack caught Teal’c’s slight frown of concentration. “T?”

“Janet Fraiser would know more than I,” the Jaffa inclined his head, “but we have spoken of infections, as she works to discover how the immunity of the Goa’uld might function. If it merely increased the sensitivity of the human immune system, hosts should develop allergies to common substances as well. And they do not. Something more must be at work. In a normal immune system exposed to an alien substance, dose matters.”

“That’s how we get vaccination,” Sam agreed. “Inject low doses of a killed virus, or a weak live virus, so the immune system can learn how to kill the full-strength one before it does any damage. Or at least put up more of a fight....” She sucked in a breath.

And she wasn’t the only one, Jack saw. Uryuu and Masahide looked like they’d almost put the pieces together, and Kurusu-

Kurusu’s face was too blank to be anything but stunned. “Exposure to small doses of a dead infection.”

 _Yep. He got it_. “I’m guessing taking apart dead pieces would do it. Or just cleaning up the blood,” Jack stated. “Or anybody who’s got ringside seats to the fight when the bullets go flying. So. Steamsmiths, Hunters, bushi on the front lines....”

“But not townsfolk.” Kibito started, and glanced at Uryuu. “Townsfolk get the slow infections.”

“Unless they get bit,” Uryuu agreed. “Anybody bit, it moves fast... you think that’s how they get in a lot of virus?”

“Injection,” Kurusu said levelly.

Both Hunters winced a little. Jack raised an eyebrow; lifted his hand a little to forestall questions from Sam and Daniel when no other explanation was forthcoming. Because if Kurusu had just implied what Jack _thought_ he’d just implied, Elder Dogen had full and legit reason to want the Hunters thrown bodily off the Koutetsujou to the Kabane’s tender mercies.

And Ayame was keeping them. Because they knew how to fight Kabane. Oh lord, what a mess.

“So.” Jack cleared his throat. “Right now, looks like people who don’t get exposed at all, virus might move in through a cut or something and take its time. People who get a little exposed, it has to fight its way in, and it’s obvious.” He shrugged, casual as if he hadn’t just had horrible biowarfare crimes dropped in front of his nose. “And then we’ve got Ikoma, and who knows how long it took his immune system to get ramped up enough that even a bite won’t take. A few months, longer... could have been all five years, and the guy just got lucky as _hell_ that night.” Because SG-1 had seen more than their share of backhanded luck that way, skating through alive while other people dropped like flies. Made for interesting nightmares.

“I’ll bet on five years,” Daniel put in.

“Optimist.”

The archaeologist snorted. “Jack, I’ve been near Ebola outbreaks. As in a few countries away and that was still too close. Ten percent of people survive Ebola. The Kabane are worse.”

Okay, fair.

“So for now the best we could do is make sure everyone’s near the fighting, or helping clean up.” Kibito glanced back down the length of the train, obviously dubious.

Uryuu’s gray brows flicked up, wry agreement. “Good luck getting _station folk_ near Kabane blood.”

“We will ask Lady Ayame if she wishes to present that proposal to Elder Dogen,” Kurusu said formally. “It is doubtful he would agree; the Kongokaku pride themselves on their purity. But the Elder should be made aware of the possibility.”

“And it has to come from Lady Ayame?” Daniel nodded, thoughtful. “You’re right. Purity concerns, advice from strangers wouldn’t be welcome.”

Which was way more polite than Jack would have managed. Because holy hell, Uryuu and the rest of the Hunters seemed half-sane now, what kind of cracked had they _been_ to use zombie-making viruses as biowarfare? Never mind _how_ , if the Kabane really did have to still be alive for an infection to take-

Ice went down Jack’s spine. Back when they’d first landed here - man, just yesterday? - Naokata had accused the Koutetsujou of carrying the infection into Kongokaku. And now they knew Biba had hijacked the Koutetsujou, _and_ had had the heart of a Fused Colony on his own hayajiro. Which implied plenty of live Kabane to go along with it.

Naokata _hadn’t been lying_.

 _Complete and utter jerk about it_ , Jack thought, glancing over his team to make sure nobody was going to make any sudden moves, _but not lying. Oh boy_.

“Huh.” Kibito was scratching his bit-of-beard, for all the world like whatever Uryuu had done _didn’t matter now_. “I wonder. If we tell them we think being exposed to dead blood might help, we’ll never get them to do it. But if we could slant it somehow....”

Sam swallowed, eyes flicking back and forth between Uryuu and the bushi the only outward sign of how hard she was working to keep her cool. “The steamsmiths try not to touch the blood either, right? You wouldn’t know if all the Kabane were dead.”

Kurusu nodded once. “They wash the hayajiro. Or burn some stains.”

“Burning.” Sam seized on that like a rope in a flood, casting a relieved look her commander’s way. “That sounds like a more likely exposure route. If everyone’s trying to avoid touching it - unless steamsmiths have respirators I haven’t seen yet, you can’t stop breathing.”

“You mean inhale it? Like some of the lords do smallpox variolation, to get around the scar?” Kibito grimaced. “If I remember right, sometimes that hits harder than just the arm-scratch. If we try breathing Kabane smoke we’ll want a quarantine set up.”

Jack let out a breath of relief. Yes, they got it, exactly like- Oh sweet ever-loving _God_. “You have smallpox?”

That earned him blinks. “You don’t?” Keisuke said, startled.

“We used to,” Daniel stepped in. “We managed to track down the last wild cases a few decades ago. We still immunize people against it, though. Just in case.”

Jack almost raised a finger at that, then went over SG-1’s roster in his head. Teal’c, immune to darn near everything, didn’t count. But Jack had been in the Middle East, Sam had flown _over_ the Middle East, and Daniel had dug through half of Egypt. All places with wild camelpox that people could catch; and while the lesions wouldn’t kill you, messed-up hands in the middle of a military operation or a dusty dig could lead to secondary infections that might do the job just swimmingly. Add that to the continual rumors of crazies working in hidden bio labs, and smallpox vaccination was just the safe and sane thing to do.

“You can _eliminate_ a virus.” Kurusu’s gaze could have burned through steel.

“Ikoma’s dream sounds a lot closer to reality,” Kibito mused. “Kill the Kabane. Kill the virus. Take our world back.”

And that was the important part, Jack knew. He’d freak out with his team about how sane the Hunters might be later. “That’s the plan. But... it’s going to take a while.” He cracked his neck, giving the car a wry grin. “So. Who’s up for some good old-fashioned beating each other up to feel better?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SG-1 comes from a cultural background that had the Nuremburg trials, and established that “just following orders” is no defense against immorality in war. Biowarfare on humans? They’re horrified. For the Koutetsujou crew... it’s horrible, but the Kabane are horrible, and some humans do horrible things. They may be a little numb. 
> 
> Variolation: to inoculate with the variola (smallpox) virus, generally through a skin scratch with some scabs or fluid from a (hopefully) mild case of smallpox. One of the first methods of immunization, and effective, but since it uses a live virus the inoculated person is both at risk of death and is infectious themselves. And yes, one way used in China and Japan _was _to blow the powdered scab up the nose....__
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> _With modern medicine, death rate after smallpox infection is somewhere around 30%. Without it... well, a lot of victims would die when there was no one left to take care of them._  
>  _


End file.
